Bring Them Home
by MistakenMagic
Summary: "You… You promised you would never… ask me to leave your side again." In the traumatic aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies, a seriously injured Fili, wracked with survivor's guilt, is refusing the crown, leaving a bewildered Kili to pick up the pieces. Family Fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone! This is a sequel to 'Family Tree', the title being the last three words of that story. 'Family Tree' isn't compulsory reading, but it might explain a few things in later chapters. Whilst writing this chapter I listened to 'Bring Him Home' from 'Les Misérables', which may give you an idea of the mood for this one. Writing this turned into a bit of an act of masochism, and I realise many of my readers will want to murder me, but I promise you it won't be nearly as bloody as Tolkien's version and there will be a happier ending! **

**Disclaimer: If I owned anything I would be able to pay off my student loan and would be writing to you from the Bahamas. Sadly, I am still in England and in debt.**

* * *

"But I can still fight!" Kíli protested, though he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Not without your sword hand you can't," Fíli countered. "And you know you can't use your bow either," he added, when Kíli opened his mouth to object further.

Kíli's bloodied right hand was clutched to his chest, staining his coat a dark, muddy red. Blood dribbled between his slashed fingers, branching out from his raw knuckles, and the brothers were leaving an ominous trail of rust-coloured footprints behind them, as if the ground itself had been sliced open. Light-headed and exhausted from blood loss, Kíli had his left arm slung over Fíli's shoulder, and the elder brother guided them towards the tents that had been set up by Dáin's army before the Front Gate.

Fíli sensed that the battle was finally drawing to a close. Mounds of bloodied, black bodies of goblins, and orcs, and wargs – some still jerking with their final death throes – were appearing in dark, stinking clusters across the plains. It was something no amount of training could prepare you for: the omnipresent, foul stench of death. The way it hangs in the air and infects everything. The goblins were retreating, being pursued by the Elvish forces, and Dáin's army and the men of Lake-town were engaging the lingering orcs and their wargs. If Azog had been defeated, news of it had not reached Fíli, and that thought alone tightened the knot in his stomach. But now he had to focus on delivering his injured brother safely from the battlefield.

They were nearing the main tent, occupied by Dáin's team of healers, when they heard a familiar voice calling to them. Bofur appeared at their side, with Bifur ambling along behind him.

"Lads! Got yourself in quite a mess there, Kíli," Bofur commented, nodding to Kíli's hand.

"It's just a scratch," Kíli replied sullenly, inwardly cursing his brother's ambidexterity.

Bofur raised an eyebrow. "And how about you, Fíli?" Another nod indicated the growing, deep red patch creeping across the left side of Fíli's jacket.

"It's Kíli's blood," Fíli said quickly, an edge in his voice.

Bofur's gaze lingered on Fíli, scrutinizing the blonde dwarf's closed features, but then he regained himself, remembering the more pressing matter: "Have either of you seen Thorin?"

"Not for a while," Fíli answered, a lump appearing in his throat… His heart began a frantic thump against his ribs as he tried to remember the last time he had seen Thorin on the battlefield.

"… That's what everyone else said," Bofur murmured, a dark shadow passing over the dwarf's usually bright eyes.

"Are the rest of our company accounted for?" Fíli asked, his mind racing.

"Aye… Well, all except Bilbo – Dori and Ori are looking for him."

"Bofur, take Kíli to the healers… I'll go and find Thorin," Fíli said, his voice low, assertive, and uncannily like his uncle's.

"Fíli…?" Kíli breathed, as Fíli swiftly pulled his brother's arm from his shoulder and almost seamlessly transferred him to Bofur's own, waiting shoulder.

"Take care of him," Fíli said quietly, reaching up to draw his sword from its sheath buckled to his back.

"You… You will come back?" Kíli asked, his eyes wide. He wore the same expression as the night of the stone giant separation, when the rock had split beneath their feet.

"Of course… And I'll have Thorin with me," Fíli said, placing a hand on Kíli's shoulder and managing a smile.

He nodded to Bofur and Bifur, and then turned, falchion raised, and headed back onto the battlefield.

* * *

"Thorin!" Fíli cried out once more, his voice hoarse, as he looked wildly around the desolate landscape, his eyes searching in vain for his uncle.

He had just waded across the river and now his boots were soaking. Stopping on the bank, the pain in his side welled up again with renewed vigour, and he choked back a cry. Doubling up, Fíli spat onto the ground at his feet… and blood speckled the dust. With a shivering hand, he put his fingers to his lips. Withdrawing them, he found they too were coated with blood. Kíli hadn't seen the arrow that had pierced his brother's side. Fíli had managed to tear it from his abdomen – though it felt like he had dragged his intestine out with it – and leave Kíli none the wiser. Then Kíli had almost lost his fingers to a goblin's serrated blade and Fíli had pushed his own injury from his mind.

"Thorin!" Fíli called out again, straightening up and wiping his hand on the fur of his jacket.

He was far away from the Front Gate now, and had found himself alone in a distant corner of the battlefield. Turning, he could hardly make out the white tents of Dáin's camp – they looked like flakes of snow settling at the Mountain's feet… And then he heard a roar. A roar like broken glass dragged across slate… Azog.

His alert ears following the terrible sound, Fíli twisted to the right and saw the sandy brow of a ridge which disappeared into a large ditch. Reaching behind, he drew his other sword and set off running. Narrowing his eyes, he thought he could see the pallid curve of the great Gundabad orc's head bobbing above the lip of the furrow.

Fíli skidded to a halt before the edge of the ditch and let out a cry. Thorin was lying in the dust below, his oak shield at his side and his sword long gone. His chest was carved into a bloodied cross-hatch of lacerations, the pool of red outlining his shape slowly turning black. His limbs lay at sickeningly odd angles and his face was mostly obscured by a thick coating of blood… But his eyes were still open, and at the sound of a familiar cry they darted up and widened in horror.

His uncle's eyes were screaming at him, but Fíli wouldn't run. Azog had obviously lured Thorin right to the edge of the battlefield, to engage him in single combat, and to ensure he would die alone… But Thorin wasn't alone. Raising a sword in each hand, Fíli leapt down into the ditch with a terrible cry and charged. Azog's mace, which had been poised to deliver its final blow to Thorin, now swung out to meet Fíli. Crossing his swords, Fíli blocked the blow, but it was still enough to send him staggering back, thoroughly winded, the wound in his side sending a flash of white-hot pain across his stomach.

Azog only gave a sinister, grating laugh, and stalked over to Thorin, waiting for Fíli to get his breath back. He was clearly trying to prolong the torture, and savour every moment of it. Azog was one to play with his food. He reached out with his great, dirtied foot and nudged Thorin's head.

"Don't touch him!" Fíli snarled, advancing on Azog, his blue eyes full of fire.

Azog's lip-less mouth was pulled into a smirk over his jagged teeth, and he made to strike Fíli again. Fíli dodged the mace's head as it came down heavily into the sand, sending up a cloud of dust. He tried to move into Azog's blind spot, but the Pale Orc was too fast for him and he had to drop onto the ground to avoid the mace's swing. Struggling to his feet, Fíli rolled to the side as Azog struck another blow, the mace falling where he had been lying only seconds before.

As Azog raised his mace once again, leaving his white torso exposed, Fíli's left arm shot out, the tip of his sword aiming for Azog's abdomen, but it was blocked by the grotesque, metal branch that served as the orc's left arm. Stunned, Fíli didn't have time to react before the sword was wrenched from his hand, the force of the movement twisting his body, and then the mace came down upon his back. Two of the mace's razor-sharp spikes ripped down either side of his spine, shredding the flesh there, and Fíli's pain passed beyond the bounds of screaming.

Landing on his stomach, with his face in the dust, the world went silent. His desperate fingers groped only air – both his swords had been dragged from their grasp. Lifting his head, Fíli's vision was edged with black, blue flecks of light flickering before him. Although his body felt like it was on fire, collapsing in on itself like a dying star, Fíli pulled himself up onto his elbows. One of his swords lay only a few feet away at Thorin's side, and he made to crawl towards it… But then Azog's foot came down upon his leg.

The crack sounded distant, as if it came from somewhere beyond the ditch. Fíli was in so much pain already it hardly occurred to him that his leg had just been broken… It was then that Thorin stirred. It was only a slight jerk of his hand accompanied by a soft groan, but it was enough to fuel Fíli's wrath. He could feel Azog leaning over him; his foul breath was almost at his neck. He couldn't reach his sword, but he could reach Thorin's oak shield. With an almighty roar, Fíli grabbed the shield and lurched around onto his back. As he did, he swung the shield in a wide arc and struck a blow to Azog's face hovering over him.

The Pale Orc staggered back with a shocked growl, his right eye bloodied. It bought Fíli enough time to lunge towards his fallen sword, still firmly gripping the shield in his other hand. As Azog moved towards him once more, mace raised, Fíli dragged himself upright and stabbed his sword straight into Azog's stomach. He then wrenched it away, tearing open the orc's abdomen, the blade sticky with black blood. With a horrifying sound, caught somewhere between a screech and a roar, Azog dropped his mace, his hand grappling at his bloodied midsection.

"You remember this, don't you, Azog?" Fíli growled, holding the shield aloft, pushing all his remaining strength into his voice which echoed around the ditch.

With a dying howl, Azog made one last lunge towards Fíli, but Fíli was ready for him. He sank his sword into the orc's stomach a second time, and before he withdrew it, his face dangerously close to Azog's, he said in a vicious whisper: "I am Fíli, son of Dís, of the line of Durin… And you will haunt my family no more!"

He ripped the blackened blade from Azog's stomach and struck the oak shield against his skull. It was the final blow. The white Gundabad orc collapsed into the dust, his face frozen in a look of terror, his eyes milky and vacant.

Fíli fell onto his back, one hand clutching his sword, the other Thorin's shield. The sky that stretched above him was a glaring, poisonous yellow. The black clouds, coloured by thunder, had been shredded by the sunset to reveal a blood-red smear on the western horizon. There were crows circling above them, their croaks grating against Fíli's ears. With a stab of panic, he realised he couldn't move… He couldn't feel his fingers and there was a coldness seeping into his bones. The world began to slowly darken, and there was so much pain sinking its barbed teeth into his body that he couldn't even begin to distinguish between his wounds.

"… Fíli?"

A voice dragged him back from the brink, anchoring him to consciousness. "Th-Thorin…?" he choked, his throat was raw and his mouth tasted of blood. He tried desperately to turn his head towards his uncle, but his whole body had gone rigid, and he remained paralysed. "I… I can't move… Uncle… I can't…" he gasped, his voice rising in panic.

"Fíli… Listen to me… You must stay calm… You must… stay awake…" Thorin was slurring his words, each syllable making an awful, wet sound as it fought against the blood in his throat. His breathing had become desperate and laboured.

Fíli had no idea how to answer… His own breathing was becoming difficult; his lungs protested the exertion as his energy drained away, like the blood from his wounds, into the ground beneath him. It then occurred to Fíli that he was going to die. The thought materialised, dulled and half-formed, hovering on the edge of his mind… But then the realisation took shape, and with no fight left in him, the fear crept in… That was something else training could never prepare you for: dying was meant to be brave and noble, they never told you that when you're lying in your own blood on the battlefield, death will be slow, and you will be scared.

"Fíli…!" It was as if Thorin had sensed the black turn his nephew's thoughts had taken.

"Still here…" Fíli replied, his voice cracking and his eyes beginning to sting.

"I… I saw you…" Thorin panted. "And I need you to know…" His words were edged with a groan. "That I have never… been more proud of you…"

Fíli had little strength left to fight against the tears that welled up in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but his vision remained blurred and the tears slid down his face, mingling with the blood, staining the ground beneath his head.

"The shield… Don't let them bury me with it…" Thorin continued. "… It's yours now…"

So Thorin knew he would never return from the battlefield alive. He would never sit upon the throne, and his place in Erebor would be in a cold, dark tomb at the root of the Mountain. Fíli knew this too would be his fate… He could already feel the cool, clammy hands of the grave upon him. "Thorin… I don't think…"

"Tell the Halfling… Tell Bilbo… I'm sorry…" Thorin spoke over him, pain lacing every word. "And tell your mother… and Kíli… I…" His voice broke, unable to continue, bordering on a cry.

Fíli listened dutifully, knowing what his uncle wanted to say, but only aware of the cruel irony of final words being passed on from one dying dwarf to another. But wasn't that what the dying did? Humour each other?

"Help will come…" Fíli whispered, though he didn't believe it.

"…Not for me… But for you…" came Thorin's strained reply.

"You… You promised you would never… ask me to leave your side again," Fíli stammered, each breath getting caught in his throat, the panic rising in him again.

"Aye…" Thorin's voice was so quiet Fíli had to strain his ears to hear it. "Forgive me… Fíli…"

Fíli could hardly see through his tears, and the pain was becoming unbearable. He tried to force his muscles into movement, tried desperately to twitch his hand towards Thorin's, to offer what little comfort he could… But he couldn't move, and the effort took its toll on him. He felt his grip on consciousness fading… The pain was receding as he seemed to be rising up out of his body… and then everything was moving backwards. He saw it all happening in front of his eyes, the visions flickering with light, as he retraced his steps across the battlefield to Kíli… his little brother, whom he would never see again… and it occurred to him he couldn't remember the last time he had heard Kíli laugh…

And then he was moving westwards, away from Erebor, through Lake-town, and the barrels were floating back up the river into Mirkwood… He passed through trees, and then mountain passages, and then Rivendell where Estel and Arwen's faces flashed briefly before his eyes… The pace quickened as he found himself at Bilbo's round, green door at Bag End, with Kíli at his side, and then back, back further to the halls of Ered Luin and into the distant realm of his childhood… Until he found himself in Thorin's arms, clutching his uncle's braids in his soft fists, as his golden-haired father appeared from the room clutching a tiny, wriggling bundle called Kíli…

But then oblivion never came.

With an agonising jolt, Fíli found himself once again lying in the ditch in the forsaken corner of the battlefield. The sky was burning and the crows had become terrifying black wraiths, big enough to be eagles…

"Thorin…?" Fíli murmured, his tongue feeling thick in his dry, bloodied mouth. "Thorin!" he cried out, when no answer came, the fear and the pain taking over. "…Thorin!"

But the world was silent.

* * *

**A/N: I know Thorin dropped his shield in the film, and I'm not sure what Peter Jackson has planned for it, but I hope you don't mind my artistic licence. Please do review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! Can I just say a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – I'm absolutely thrilled with the response to the first chapter, which, considering its content, makes me considerably evil, I know. So, this chapter comes with a complimentary packet of tissues, and should you wish to make your reading experience even more tearful, you should listen to 'Hope There's Someone' by Antony and the Johnsons.**

* * *

"Over here!"

The shout was accompanied by a strangled howl, but Balin already knew what they had found. He had felt it, deep in his bones, long before their company had reached the Lonely Mountain; a black sense of foreboding had plagued his thoughts for months. Dwalin had chided him for being the eternal pessimist, and Thorin had remained as stubborn as ever. But now… Balin looked up from the fetid pile of orc corpses he had been turning over with the tip of his sword and found Glóin studying him, his expression unreadable. His eyes flitted to the right as he waited for Balin's reaction.

Balin followed his gaze to the brow of a furrow, which dropped into a sort of crater… And he heard his brother's enraged cries rising up from the trench, getting snagged on a chill wind which only made them sound all the more demented. Balin closed his eyes as they began to sting, and nodded to Glóin. The two of them approached the ditch and paused at the dried, brown grass spiking out at its edge. Thorin and Fíli were lying side by side in the dust, their blood staining the ground beneath them like a shadow. Thorin's eyes were still open, the blue faded and glassy, staring vacantly at the sky. Fíli's eyes were closed in a grimace and, most curiously, he was clutching Thorin's oak shield. The colossal, white corpse of Azog the Defiler lay to the left of them, black blood still seeping from the orc's slashed stomach. Dwalin was kneeling at Thorin's side, his head in his hands. Nori, who had raised the alarm, stood behind him, unsure of what to do.

Balin took in this grim tableau without a word, his heart beating painfully fast inside his chest. And grief crept in slowly, but surely, descending over him like a shroud. Suddenly, Dwalin was on his feet. With a roar, he raised his axe, and lunged towards Azog's corpse. He delivered a blow to the Pale Orc's back, the axe head getting stuck in his spine. Dwalin wrenched it out and struck again, and again, and again. Each blow was harder than the last and accompanied by a wounded snarl.

"Dwalin…" Balin said weakly, but he could say no more.

He knew he had no right to deny his brother his grief, or how he chose to vent it. Dwalin and Thorin had been close for well over a century, ever since they had trained together as bairns. He was well aware that Thorin told Dwalin things he would never breathe a word of to anyone else, and equally, Balin sensed Thorin knew more about his brother than he did.

Having exhausted himself, Dwalin stayed his axe, his chest heaving. He spat on Azog's bloodied back for good measure and let loose a string of Khuzdul curses, unable to turn around and face the sight of Thorin and Fíli again. Balin began to struggle down into the ditch, aided by Glóin, with Nori coming to meet them. No word passed between them, only solemn looks and nods. Thorin's face was white beneath the blood, but Fíli's remained pink and flushed, almost as if… Balin froze. He was sure he had just seen Fíli's chest twitch. Balin moved faster than he had done for some years and in an instant he was kneeling at Fíli's side. Placing a gentle hand on Fíli's forehead he felt the skin burning beneath his palm. Quickly putting two fingers to Fíli's wrist he felt a pulse, very weak but still there.

"By Aulë," he breathed, his heart wanting to burst right out of his ribs. "He's alive! Fíli is still with us!"

Dwalin spun around, and then they were all crowding Fíli. The shroud of grief that had wrapped itself around all of them loosened, if only slightly, with this glimmer of hope. They had been too late to save Thorin, but maybe they were not too late to save Fíli.

* * *

Every time the doors of the main tent flapped open, Kíli's heart leapt. But every time he was greeted with a host of unfamiliar faces and his heart sank into his stomach. He was sitting on one of the beds closest to the tent's entrance, his right hand tightly bandaged and held in a sling. His fingers had been cleaned and stitched by a dwarf named Grefur, Dáin's head-healer. Grefur, who was referred to as 'Grefur the Grouch' by the other healers, was terrifying. He generally treated his patients as an inconvenience to his job of healing, and when he was examining Kíli's fingers, Kíli was convinced he was going to pull them off. A tall dwarf, with a bald head, bushy eyebrows, and piercing black eyes, Grefur looked like Dwalin's evil twin. It was a thought Kíli was desperate to share with Fíli, but it had been hours since Fíli had gone in search of Thorin, and there had been no news of him since.

Occasionally an elf or a man of Lake-town would be brought into the tent, but he was soon collected by his own kin before Kíli had chance to question him about Fíli or Thorin. He had tried to sneak out more than once, but each time he had been caught by a healer and dragged back to his own bed, a bowl of meat broth thrust into his uninjured hand to keep him occupied. But Kíli could hardly stomach anything… Bofur and Bifur had been thrown out by Grefur, and the only other member of the company he had seen since was Óin, who was helping Dáin's healers mix medicines and ointments. He was therefore too busy to talk to Kíli, and in a tent full of people, Kíli had never felt more alone. The sun was setting now, and he couldn't get the look Fíli had given him before he left out of his mind. It was as if he was hiding something, like he knew something Kíli didn't.

Another cry sounded from the dwarf lying on the bed to Kíli's right. The dwarf had been groaning constantly ever since he was placed there, but now the groans sounded more laboured and more desperate. Kíli looked to the other end of the tent where the healers were gathered around a table of bandages and medicines, but none of them seemed to have noticed the dwarf's moans. The dwarf's long, grey beard was matted with blood and his chest and head were heavily bandaged. He let out another long whine, and so, unable to endure the dwarf's suffering silently, Kíli stood up and tentatively approached his side.

"Erm… Excuse me?" Kíli said, over the dwarf's groans. "Are… Are you alright?"

It was a ridiculous question; Kíli realised this as soon as it left his mouth, but he wasn't sure what else to say. The dwarf quietened and his eyes darted to Kíli – or rather his eye did. One eye was milky white and pupil-less, the other, a dark brown, scrutinised the young dwarf leaning over him.

"Thorin?" the dwarf said, his voice a low growl.

Kíli's heart jolted. "No… I-I'm his nephew, Kíli… Son of Dís."

The dwarf continued to stare at him, his uneven breaths crackling in his throat. "Well… You look like him… And your brother… sounds like him…"

Kíli wasn't quite sure how he managed to stay upright as his heart seemed to fail him. "You… You know my brother?" Kíli gasped, moving even closer to the dwarf. "You've seen Fíli?"

"Aye…" the dwarf replied, with the grotesque cough of corrupted lungs. "He asked me… about your uncle… before he went limping… across the river…"

"_Limping_?" Kíli gulped, his stomach manically knotting and unknotting itself.

He was about to ask again, when suddenly the dwarf let out cry and his hand shot out, grabbing Kíli's collar, clutching it fiercely. His brown eye was wide with terror, its gaze burning into Kíli, and then the light was lost from it, like snuffing out a candle. His fingers loosened their grip on Kíli's coat, but the hand didn't fall from his chest until Kíli staggered back, shaking. The brown eye stayed open, its dull, empty stare fixed on Kíli, who was frozen in horror.

Kíli wasn't sure how long he had been standing there when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to his bed.

"It's alright, lad… There was nothing we could do," a healer murmured, as another carefully drew down the old dwarf's eyelids and pulled the white sheet over his face.

Kíli had killed orcs, and goblins, and wargs… and he was sure dwarves had been struck down around him on the battlefield that day, but he had never actually watched any of his kin die before. In the storybooks and the epic songs, when the hero or his friends died, their eyes always closed first, with a smile or a sigh… They never told you that, in reality, you die with your eyes open, so that everyone can literally see life leaving you… And with this dwarf there was neither smile, nor sigh… Only a look of pure fear before the end.

"Who… Who was he?" Kíli whispered, as the healers turned to leave.

"Varnin, son of Vestri," one replied. "He grew up in Erebor… Fought with Thorin at the Battle of Azanulbizar."

Kíli didn't reply. He stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at the white sheet which covered the face of Varnin, who had come home to die.

* * *

It was growing dark and the healers had begun to light candles at their patients' bedsides. The body of Varnin had been collected by his distraught younger brother and cousin. Kíli hadn't been able to say a word, only wondering if the cries of Varnin's kin were what awaited him... The waiting had reduced his fear to a dull ache, settling like silt at the bottom of his stomach, and he had stopped looking up whenever anyone entered the tent… That was until one of Dáin's councillors marched in, and gave Kíli an unnerving look as he passed. As soon as their eyes met, he looked away, and quickened his pace to reach the healers gathered at the other end. Kíli found himself standing up, straining his ears to catch what was being said…

"…You might want to move the lad to his own tent… He's just become second in line to the throne."

Kíli thought his cry must have been heard by the whole camp, but instead no sound came from his gaping mouth, and the screaming was only inside his head… _Second in line_… That meant either Thorin or Fíli had fallen… But he didn't know which… Suddenly he was moving towards the councillor, his hands outstretched, as if he were drowning… Because he was, really. The councillor, not wanting to be confronted and unable to handle Kíli's grief, moved past him and headed back towards the tent's entrance.

"Wait!" Kíli called, stumbling after him.

He felt a healer's hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off fiercely, his eyes beginning to blur with tears. The councillor had just disappeared through the tent doors when Balin appeared in his place, his face grey and tired.

"Balin…" Kíli said, his voice no more than a whisper. "What… What's happened…?"

Balin sighed and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Kíli didn't shrug it away, though he felt like he was sinking beneath it. "I am so sorry, Kíli… Thorin… Your uncle is dead."

The cry got stuck in Kíli's throat. "And Fíli?" he asked desperately, the words struggling through his wretched need to scream.

"He's alive," Balin replied carefully, and from his tone Kíli knew this meant: 'But only just'.

"I… I have to see him!" Kíli cried, and burst from the tent into the cold air of the descending night.

"Kíli!" Balin was at his side again.

Kíli looked frantically up and down the row of smaller tents in front of him – all were glowing with light, but only one, to his right, had the shadows of more than one person moving hastily across its yellow walls. Kíli darted towards it, aware that Balin was at his heels, and practically threw himself through the doors… But he wasn't ready for what he saw.

Fíli was lying on his side on the tent's single bed. His back was drenched in bright red blood, oozing from two enormous gashes that ran down parallel to his spine, and the bed sheets were already soaked scarlet. Grefur was barking orders at the other three healers present and saying something about Fíli's leg, paying no attention to Kíli's intrusion. Kíli followed Grefur's gaze and his stomach turned… One of Fíli's legs was so swollen it was almost black in places… And as a healer moved around the bed, Kíli thought he glimpsed a shard of bone protruding just below Fíli's knee… Kíli lurched to the side and threw up onto the tent's floor. His stomach barely had anything to offer up, and so Kíli was reduced to retching, his shoulders shaking as the tears slid down his nose.

"Get that boy out of here!" Grefur roared, as Balin helped Kíli straighten up.

"No!" Kíli protested, as Balin tried to gently pull him away. But then a healer moved towards him, preparing for a forceful removal. "Fíli!" he cried out, as the healer's hand closed around his arm. "You hang in there, Fíli! Don't you leave me too!"

* * *

The camp was quiet when Kíli crept out of his tent. It had only been two hours since he had been dragged from Fíli's tent and lodged in his own at the end of the row, but it felt as if an age had passed. The sky was black now and there were no stars. Balin had stayed with him for an hour, but then he had been called away to help Bifur and Dori restrain Dwalin, who had taken to destroying most things he came into contact with… Kíli wished he could go and help Dwalin with his destruction… But, if the truth be told, he hadn't the energy to even lift a sword. He felt utterly exhausted, but couldn't sleep… He could only sit on his bed and think about Fíli, and Thorin, and the gaping hole that was slowly blossoming in his chest, its dark tendrils creeping into his veins.

No one had come to tell him Fíli had died, but neither had he been allowed back into Fíli's tent. He tried to see his brother once, just after Balin left, but Grefur had threatened to rip out his stitches and make a necklace out of his fingers if he tried to enter the tent without permission again. And Kíli believed him. Grefur wasn't a grouch, he was a homicidal maniac. It was another thought he desperately wished he could share with Fíli… Maybe when he was awake, Kíli could tell him all about these first terrible hours and they would laugh and everything would seem a little brighter… But Kíli was painfully aware that this might never happen… That Fíli might never wake up… And even if he did, Kíli would have to tell him about Thorin before he told him about Grefur…

So Kíli wasn't allowed to see Fíli, but then the thought had struck him that maybe he would be allowed to see Thorin. Moving silently along the row of tents, he reached a tent with Thorin's sigil fluttering from the top of its front pole. From the shadows thrown against the tent's walls, Kíli guessed there was one person moving around inside. On entering the tent, he discovered this person was Óin, and he couldn't deny he was glad to see a familiar face.

"Kili?" Óin murmured, rising slowly from his stool at Thorin's bedside.

Thorin's body was laid out on the bed, his chest bare, and his lower half covered with a white sheet. His rings and ear piercing had been removed, and were lying in a dish on the bedside table. His eyes were closed and he wore the slight frown Kíli was used to seeing as a child, before he and Fíli leapt on him to wake him up in a morning. Thorin could have been asleep, and for a moment, Kíli let himself pretend he was. Óin had been stitching one of the many wounds on Thorin's chest, but now he carefully set down the needle and moved towards Kíli.

"Please don't throw me out!" Kíli said, raising his voice slightly as Óin was without his ear trumpet. "Please, Óin… They won't let me see Fíli… I… I just want to help. Please… I just need to do something."

Óin studied him for a long time, but finally he nodded. "There's a bowl of warm water and a cloth on that table behind you… If you would like to wash away the blood, that would be most helpful."

"Thank you," Kíli whispered. It seemed a bizarre word for the situation, but he meant it.

Óin put a hand on his shoulder, but didn't say a word. His solemn expression said everything. He then returned to his seat at Thorin's side and picked up his needle again. Kíli retrieved the cloth and bowl of water, and pulled up a stool at the opposite side. Óin hadn't commented on Kíli's injured hand, as if he already knew Kíli would take it from the sling and use it as best he could anyway.

Slowly and carefully, Kíli began to wash the blood from his uncle's arm. He got used to the cold touch, although it inwardly made him shiver, and worked steadily down from Thorin's shoulder to his fingers, until the water in the bowl was dark red. Óin never uttered a word, and neither did Kíli, and the night was silent… That was until shouts could be heard coming from a tent to their left. Kíli dropped the cloth just as Fíli started screaming.

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**A/N: Please do let me know what you think, even if you just want to tell me you hate me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you all had a great Easter! A huge thank you to everyone who returned for Chapter Two and a manic wave to my new readers! You guys are all awesome, and I am so sorry for the emotional trauma I've been inflicting – this is a longer chapter and it comes with a free bar of chocolate. Oh, and there will be a little light relief in this one, promise! Sparrow – sorry I can't reply to your review, but thank you for reading and well, if you like Fíli whump, you're gonna love this…**

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Kíli leapt to his feet and had a hand on the tent's door-flap when a healer appeared, blocking his exit. His stomach jolted when he realised the healer had been one of the team in Fíli's tent. Now, standing before him, the healer's face was ruddy, with beads of sweat slipping down his brow as he looked from Kíli to Óin.

"The lad's woken up and we've run out of poppy milk," he gasped out. "We need to reset his leg, but he's screaming up something shocking!"

"Yes, even I can hear that!" Óin replied, coming to stand at Kíli's side.

Fíli's agonised screams were indeed forming the horrific background noise to the exchange, and each time his brother cried out, Kíli felt another long knife twist in his chest. He wasn't sure why the healer was here, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he pushed him aside and bolted towards Fíli's tent.

"We've sent someone to Bard's men to try and cadge some supplies, but you don't happen to have anything, do you? In that personal store of yours?" the healer continued, a nod indicating Óin's medicine chest placed on the floor at Thorin's bedside.

"Not poppy milk, but some Valerian root might help." Óin went to collect the chest, picking up the leather strap which allowed him to carry it over his shoulder.

Óin's movements seemed painfully slow to Kíli, and Fíli's screams were getting louder, piercing him further. He wanted to burst out of the tent like his heart wanted to burst out of his ribcage, but the healer remained in the doorway.

"I… I can help!" Kíli said desperately. "Please, let me try and calm him down!"

"He's out of his mind with pain and fever, lad… I'm not sure he'll even know you're there," the healer answered, but the tortured look in Kíli's eyes made him add: "Though it can't hurt to try."

Kíli nodded, relief flooding his burning chest as the healer moved aside… But then he thought of Thorin. He didn't want to leave his uncle alone in the tent… The bitterly rational part of him said the dead didn't care and it made no difference whether they were alone or not. The body laid out on the bed behind him wasn't really his uncle anymore. But still, Kíli's heart ached at the thought of abandoning him.

The healer appeared to have read Kíli's conflict in his expression, and he murmured: "You two go, I'll stay with Thorin."

With whispered words of thanks, Kíli and Óin set off towards Fíli's tent. As they drew closer, Fíli's screams were almost drowned out by the shouts from the healers and Kíli recognised Grefur's growl. The manic movements of the shadows across the walls of the tent prepared Kíli for the chaos he was about to enter, but still the sight that met him made him want to scream too.

Fíli was being pinned to his bed by four healers, but he continued to writhe beneath their hands. His torso was almost entirely wrapped in white bandages, which were soaked with sweat, a spot of blood blooming just below his ribcage at one side. With each scream, his head snapped back into the pillow, and Kíli caught sight of his eyes – the blue icy with pain and swimming with tears – as they rolled deliriously in their sockets.

Grefur was at the foot of the bed, trying to examine Fíli's leg, blocking it from Kíli's view. "If he keeps this up he's going to tear out all his stitches!" the head-healer said angrily. "Where is Bastrun with that poppy milk?"

Grefur noticed the healers staring at something over his shoulder, and he spun around to find Óin and Kíli standing in the doorway. Kíli immediately feared for his fingers.

"That sling is not for decoration!" Grefur barked, and Kíli quickly slipped his arm back into the sling that had been hanging limply around his neck. Grefur turned to Óin. "We need something to knock him out now. If we wait any longer he's going to lose the leg."

This news made Kíli's stomach rise into his throat. Peering around Grefur's towering form, he saw Fíli's movements were becoming more frantic and his limbs were thrashing against the healers' restraints. Every time he jerked, the healers seemed to throw their whole weight into pinning him down, which only made him scream louder.

"They're hurting him!" Kíli cried, trying to move towards Fíli.

"No more than he is hurting himself," Grefur snapped, stepping in front of Kíli. "And what did I tell you about stepping foot in this tent again?"

"Let him stay, Grefur," Óin said calmly and firmly, from where he knelt on the floor, pulling herbs from his medicine chest. "He might be able to calm Fíli. You know what it's like between brothers. How many times have you soothed Grendul?"

Grefur seemed thrown by this mention of his brother, but not as thrown as Kíli, who couldn't imagine Grefur soothing anyone. The healers were all staring at Grefur, their thoughts moving along the same line as Kíli's, but as soon as Grefur turned around they looked back down at Fíli.

"Alright, lad, see what you can do," Grefur said gruffly, moving to let Kíli pass.

Kíli went to Fíli's side, and sat down on the bed by his head. Very slowly, and with great care, he pulled Fíli's head into his lap. At first Fíli's head kept slamming into his leg every time he screamed, and the healers kept a firm hold of his limbs, but then Kíli began to stroke Fíli's hair, the way their mother used to do when they were children.

"Fíli… Fíli! Listen to me… It's Kíli… I'm here…"

He ran his free hand, gently and rhythmically, through Fíli's golden hair. Initially this proved difficult; Fíli kept struggling against the healers, and his screams were enough to send Kíli permanently over the edge. But Kíli tried desperately to stay focused. He wasn't going to give up on his brother now.

"Fíli… I know you can hear me… And I know it hurts…"

Kíli had to bite his lip to stop the cry that was determined to burst from his lips. He blinked away the tears. Now was not the time to crumble. He had to be strong for both of them.

"Look at me, Fíli… You're safe… You're with me…"

And for a split second, the wide blue eyes met the brown, and the scream died in Fíli's throat. Kíli's heart skipped a beat when he saw the flicker of recognition in Fíli's eyes as he emitted a low whimper.

"That's it, Fíli… Just breathe… I'm not going anywhere…"

He began to smooth Fíli's hair back from his glistening forehead, which was burning and sticky with sweat. Fíli continued to whimper, with the occasional higher-pitched cry, but he stopped thrashing in the bed, his limbs only jerking when the pain threatened to take over again. Kíli exhaled for what seemed like the first time in minutes, and looked up to find all the healers, including Grefur, staring at him, dumbfounded.

"Well done, lad," one healer said finally.

Óin appeared at Fíli's other side, carrying a large wooden spoon of gritty, dark green liquid. "Valerian root, highly concentrated," he explained. "It'll help keep the pain at bay."

Kíli carefully lifted Fíli's head, and he let out a cry, but they still managed to get him to sip the concoction from the spoon, with Kíli giving him gentle encouragements.

"Alright, we can't wait any longer," Grefur said, positioning himself by Fíli's leg. "We're going to have to do this without poppy milk."

A shiver seemed to run through the healers as they readjusted their restraining stances. They glanced at Kíli, almost with regret, as if they knew exactly what was coming.

"Give the lad something to bite on so he doesn't gnaw his own tongue off." Grefur glared at Kíli when no one moved. "Your belt, boy! Quickly!"

"Oh!" Abandoning pretences, Kíli pulled his hand from the sling, and with shaking fingers, hastily removed his belt.

Fíli seemed to have sensed the tension and the panic in the room, and he began to struggle again with a helpless whimper. His eyes widened when Kíli gently placed the belt in his mouth, and he fought against it, trying to spit it out.

"Shhh… Fíli! It's alright… I promise you, it's going to be alright… I need you to bite down on this for me… Please, Fíli…" Kíli whispered, stroking Fíli's hair again, placing his injured hand on Fíli's shoulder. He didn't have a free hand to wipe away the rogue tear that was slipping down his cheek. Fíli quietened again, and stopped struggling.

"Alright, let's do this quickly and cleanly," Grefur said, moving his hands into position. "After four…"

Kíli tightened his grip on Fíli's shoulder, each breath getting caught in his throat, and his heart rioting against his ribcage.

"One… Two… Three –" Grefur snapped the bone back into place with a sickening crack and Fíli lurched forward, his agonised screams barely muffled by the belt.

Fíli's head dropped against Kíli's leg, but he arched his back, and just screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Kíli was speechless, frozen in shock, as he looked to Grefur.

"We always do it after three," Grefur grunted, in response to Kíli's obvious horror. "Oldest trick in the book."

His breaths coming almost as rapidly and raggedly as his brother's, Kíli tried to regain himself, and his shaking hand moved back to Fíli's hair. "You did it, Fíli!" Kíli gasped, over his brother's cries. "That's the worst part over with… I'm so proud of you!"

At these words, Fíli's eyes, filled with a look of both confusion and terror, darted up to Kíli, peering at him as though he was someone else. But then his eyes rolled back into his head, and the lids closed over them. He stopped writhing and was still, the only movement being the twitchy rise and fall of his chest.

"About time," Grefur muttered, not looking up from Fíli's leg as he began to stitch the wound where the bone had previously protruded, just below the knee.

The healers slowly released their grip on Fíli's limbs and straightened up, one of them patting Kíli on the back. They were beginning to busy themselves helping Grefur when another healer suddenly half-threw himself through the tent's doors.

"Where in Aulë's name have you been?" Grefur barked, and Kíli realised this must be Bastrun, who had gone to Bard's camp for aid.

"Bard has sick men too…" Bastrun panted. "They were quite reluctant to part with it…" He held up a small vial of poppy milk. "…But then I told them it was for the King."

Kíli's heart, which had previously been in his throat, plummeted down into his stomach. He looked to Óin, his mouth hanging open slightly, as the reality of Bastrun's words slowly began to sink in. There was a prolonged, tense silence, as the healers exchanged nervous glances, but then Grefur said: "Well, it'll do him little good now."

Kíli didn't move from his position on the edge of Fíli's bed, with his brother's head still in his lap. The healers didn't question this, and happily worked around him. Kíli tried not to look as Grefur bandaged and splinted Fíli's leg, and instead his gaze fell on the scarlet stain, a stark contrast to the white bandages wrapped around Fíli's abdomen… The stain was on Fíli's left side… Exactly where the blood had been on his jacket… And he had told Bofur it was Kíli's blood…

"The wound on his side…" Kíli said quietly, addressing any healer who was listening, and nodding to the stain.

"From an arrow," one healer replied. "He must have pulled it out himself."

It was what Kíli had been afraid of… Fíli must have removed the arrow without him seeing, and carried on regardless. He had been injured when he brought Kíli to safety, but had returned to the battlefield to look for Thorin… The thought of Thorin knotted Kíli's stomach, and he realised he had been so focused on Fíli that he had forgotten about his uncle for minutes on end… A hot, sickly feeling of guilt mingled with the pain in his chest.

And then, as if the thought of Thorin had conjured it, Kíli noticed something lying on the floor in the corner of the tent… Thorin's oak shield. His eyes widened with shock… What was it doing here? He blinked, wondering if, in his grief, he was imagining it, but it didn't vanish – it was definitely there, next to Fíli's blood-spattered jacket and boots.

"Óin?" Kíli murmured, but the old healer was too busy with his medicine chest and Kíli's voice had been too soft. "Óin!" Kíli said, louder. "Why is Thorin's shield in here?"

Looking up, Óin's gaze moved from Kíli to the famous shield. "They brought it in with Fíli… Balin found him clutching it, and we had to fair wrench it from his hand."

Fíli had been holding Thorin's shield? Kíli wished he knew what had happened out there on the battlefield… And how the oak shield had come to be passed down from uncle to nephew. Balin told him they had found Azog dead in the same ditch, and they were assuming Fíli had killed him – his falchion being smothered in black orc blood. Kíli only wished he had been there to defend his brother and his uncle, and maybe if he had, Fíli wouldn't be in such a state… and maybe Thorin wouldn't have died.

Kíli remained lost in these grim thoughts for a long time, and no one dared to disturb him. The healers finished treating Fíli's leg and covered him with thin blankets whilst his fever raged. When he showed some signs of consciousness, they managed to get him to swallow most of the poppy milk they had acquired. Sometime in the early hours, Kíli fell asleep sitting at Fíli's side, his head lolling on his chest. Caught somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, Kíli felt gentle hands slowly helping him rise from the bed, and then settling him down onto the ground, which seemed softer than usual, and something even softer was placed beneath his head. Wanting to protest the loss of Fíli's body heat, Kíli tried to speak, but he had only just managed the first syllable of his brother's name when sleep reclaimed him.

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Kíli sat bolt upright with a sharp intake of breath. The first thing that greeted him was a strip of bright blue sky, glimpsed between the tent's door-flaps. For a second there was that moment of numbness experienced just after waking, where your thoughts are erased of both past and future, and you are blissfully ignorant of everything. But the moment was fleeting, and Kíli was soon dragged painfully into the conscious present, aware of the crushing past and the uncertain future. He was sitting on a mat on the floor of Fíli's tent, his legs tangled in a blanket. Whipping his head to the side, he found Fíli lying still on his bed, with Óin gently dabbing a cold cloth to his forehead.

"Good morning, lad" Óin said, with a smile.

"How is he?" Kíli asked, untangling himself from the blanket and moving to Fíli's side.

"Well, he's made it through the night, and that's promising," Óin replied. "He's a fighter, your brother."

"That he is," Kíli agreed, taking Fíli's hand and squeezing it. He sensed Óin had something he wanted to tell him, but was holding back. He looked at the healer questioningly.

"We've sent a party back to Ered Luin… to collect your mother," Óin said softly. "Glóin, Bombur, and Nori have gone. Glóin and Bombur are wanting to see their bairns, and they've taken Nori to keep him out of trouble."

Kíli managed a nod, although the thought of his mother and her grief made his chest ache.

"They've found Bilbo," Óin continued, when it was clear Kíli wasn't going to comment. "The company are having breakfast with him in the main tent… I think they would like to see you."

Kíli's gaze moved uncertainly to Fíli. "I… I want to be here… When he wakes up."

"I know, lad, but we've given him enough poppy milk to take down an oliphaunt – he's not going to be waking up before noon," Óin replied gently.

Kíli was silent for a long time, but finally he gave in with a sigh. "You'll come and get me if he wakes?"

"Aye, of course," Óin said, and so Kíli reluctantly let go of Fíli's hand and, straightening up, stepped out into the fresh air.

The morning was cool and clear, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky that stretched above the row of tents. A chill wind nipped at Kíli's nose as he made his way to the main tent. He slipped his hand back into his sling before he entered, remembering that it was not for decoration. As he walked into the tent, an unnerving hush fell over the inhabitants, which made him pause, unsure if he wanted to go any further.

"Kíli, lad! Come have some breakfast!"

Kíli recognised Bofur's voice and spotted the company sitting at the opposite end of the tent, by the healers' table. He walked as quickly as he could to join them, but he didn't miss the looks of sympathy he got from the patients in the beds as he passed. Some nodded, and others almost bowed. He awkwardly nodded back, but tried his best to avoid eye contact. He reached Bofur and the others, who were sitting or standing around a bench next to the last bed of the row. Bilbo was sitting in the middle of the bench, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, with a steaming bowl of porridge clutched between his knees. He looked up at Kíli with a meek smile. Dori and Ori sat at either side of him; Dori was finishing a plate of eggs and bacon, and Ori was knitting a patch of something in brown and gold wool. Bifur was standing next to Bofur, and there was no sign of Balin or Dwalin. Kíli was about to say something when he heard the patients behind him whispering… and some were even _sniggering_. Kíli felt his cheeks grow hot and he was about to whirl around when Bofur put a hand on his shoulder.

"They're not talking about you, lad," Bofur assured him, and conspiratorial smiles twitched on the lips of all present. "The patients are rebelling against Grefur the Grouch."

"What?" Kíli whispered, unable to deny his intrigue.

"They've all swapped beds," Bofur grinned. "Well, the ones who can manage it anyway. And they've moved his things around at the healer table. Want to make him think he's losing it."

"Haven't the other healers tried to stop them?" Kíli asked, glancing behind him at the gleeful patients.

"Stop them? They've been helping them!" Bofur said, and a chuckle ran through the company. "As have we. No one calls my hat ridiculous."

"And he did tell me I was an oversized squirrel who should stop wasting his time," Bilbo added, with a small smile.

There was a moment of silence, in which most of the depleted company bowed their heads. They all knew no amount of mischief could ever really mask the pain they felt at the loss of Thorin, though Kíli thought it was just like Bofur to try and lighten even the darkest of mornings. He sensed they all had so many things they wanted to say to him, but didn't quite know how.

"How is Fíli?" Bilbo asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Sleeping at the moment," Kíli replied, fighting his desire to run from the tent and go back to Fíli's side. "They, er, _treated_ his leg last night, and he's pulled through 'til morning… So Óin says it all looks promising."

"Excellent news!" Bofur said, beaming.

There were murmurs of agreement from the company, and then Ori said, rather shyly: "This is for him." He raised his knitting needles. "It's going to be a blanket… This is his sigil, see."

On closer inspection, Kíli recognised his brother's sigil woven in gold on the brown patch. "That's really great, Ori," he said, smiling, and Ori almost blushed.

Then the silence returned. Kíli knew what was being left unsaid, but he couldn't bear the thought of talking about Thorin… And now he could think of nothing else to say.

"I am so sorry, Kíli," Bilbo said, voicing what everyone else was thinking, though they noticeably flinched when he said it. He opened his mouth, as if to continue, but decided against it… He had already said enough.

Kíli stared at Bilbo, feeling his eyes begin to sting. Part of him wished he had never left Fíli's tent, but there was such sincerity and such pain in Bilbo's eyes that he knew not only did Bilbo mean every word, he also shared Kíli's grief.

"Where… Where are Balin and Dwalin?" Kíli stammered, looking away from Bilbo. There would come a time when he would have to talk to their burglar about Thorin, but he knew that time was not now, not when they were in a tent full of people.

"Balin is talking politics with Gandalf and Dáin," Dori answered.

"And Dwalin has, er, gone for a walk," Bofur added, shifting his weight slightly.

"How is Dwalin?" Kíli asked carefully, hoping someone would be honest with him.

"We're trying to keep him away from living things," Bofur replied, exchanging glances with Dori and Ori. "But we don't really want him to be on his own, so Bifur has been keeping him company… He likes the fact that Bifur can't tell him it'll be alright, and seen as Bifur has already survived one axe to the head, we thought it was the perfect match."

Despite it all, Kíli managed a smile. He only wished he was gifted with Bofur's eternal optimism… Behind this tale, Kíli knew the truth was that Dwalin was hurting, and expressing his grief in the only way he knew how. Kíli was sure he would have to speak to him about Thorin too.

"And why isn't Bifur with him now?" he murmured.

"He wanted to be left properly alone… He's gone back onto the battlefield," Bofur explained, but not wanting to take the subject any further, he continued: "Now let me get you some eggs and bacon. I'm not allowed to cook in here, but I've got a fire going out back." Before Kíli could protest, Bofur was heading out of the tent.

And so Kíli managed what little breakfast he could with the company, lingering just long enough to see the perplexed expression on Grefur's face turn murderous when he returned to the tent and realised what was going on. Kíli then spent most of the day in Fíli's tent, at his brother's side, anxiously waiting for him to wake up, but dreading the moment when he did.

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As evening arrived, Kíli was spending an hour alone in Thorin's tent. Thorin, with all his wounds now cleaned and stitched, was dressed in his finest clothes, and that slight frown which blurred the line between sleep and death was still there. The silence had become suffocating and so Kíli had, very tentatively, begun to speak to his uncle. He told him all about the night's events and how Fíli had pulled through… That Dwalin missed him and he wished there was something he could do to help… He asked him about his shield, and what had happened out on the battlefield… And then, his voice cracking, he told him he was sorry he hadn't been there…

Words were beginning to fail him when Óin entered the tent, making him jump. Kíli knew Óin must have heard him talking, but all thoughts of embarrassment vanished at the healer's sombre expression. Surely Fíli wasn't…?

"Fíli is awake," Óin said quietly. "He's asking for you."

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**A/N: Please do let me know what you think! Your reviews make irresponsibly ditching finals revision to write well worth it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – it seriously means a lot to me! OK, the first part of this chapter will be a little heavy-going again *distributes free tissues and buckets* but I promise the next chapter will be better – Chapter Five is the turning point in the plot arc, so I just hope you can bear with me. Sorry I can't reply to your review, Nicole, but thank you so much for reading – here's that update for you!**

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The sky in the west had been the colour of blood when Kíli entered Thorin's tent. Now, as he left it with Óin, the sky was a dark, starless blue with a slither of red still lingering on the western horizon. Óin didn't say a word as they walked to Fíli's tent, and Kíli's heart began a frantic thump against his ribs… What was Óin keeping from him? Had Fíli said something to cause the healer's silence? Or was this to do with Thorin…? What if Fíli didn't know? With all these questions wrestling for space in Kíli's head, making him sick to the stomach, he almost walked straight passed Fíli's tent, but Óin put a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Óin said quietly. "I'll be in the healers' tent if you need me."

Kíli nodded, and Óin disappeared back down the row of tents, his receding form eventually swallowed by the night. Taking a deep breath, Kíli stepped into the tent. At first he thought it a relief to enter Fíli's tent and not find his brother screaming and covered in blood, but then Fíli looked up, and Kíli wasn't sure this was any better. Fíli's face was still pink and flushed with fever, but his blue eyes were cold and alert… They pierced right through Kíli as he came to Fíli's bedside, and the smile died on his lips. He carefully pulled up a stool, aware that Fíli was watching his every move.

"I wanted to be here when you woke up," Kíli said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But I was with…" He froze, and his stomach jolted painfully.

He knew he would have to mention Thorin's name sooner or later, but the stony look in Fíli's eyes was scaring him. To cover for his faltering, he took Fíli's hand. He felt Fíli's fingers tense and with another sickly jolt, Kíli suspected his brother, had he the strength, would have pulled his hand away.

"Can… Can I get you anything?" he murmured, knowing he had never been more desperate to hear his brother's voice.

"Are you alright?" Fíli replied; his voice was hollow and as cold as his eyes. Ignoring Kíli's question, he nodded to his sling. Part of Kíli wished Fíli had stayed silent.

"Oh… I'm fine… I don't really need this, but there's a healer who…" Kíli stopped. This wasn't how he imagined telling Fíli about Grefur, about the antics in the main tent… Fíli looked as if he would never laugh or smile again, and he was breaking Kíli's already battered heart.

Fíli turned his head away and stared up at the roof of the tent. "I know he's dead."

Kíli felt a sharp stab of pain rip across his chest. He wasn't sure how he found the strength to ask: "Óin told you?"

"Yes."

Kíli tightened his hold on Fíli's hand. His brother refused to look at him and his voice sounded so distant. So Kíli held onto him, trying to anchor them together, for fear Fíli was already drifting away. Fíli didn't say another word, his gaze fixed on the tent's roof, but Kíli saw a single tear swell in the corner of his eye and slip down his cheek, as if the ice there were melting. The silence seemed to last for an age, but Kíli had no words to fill it. His mind was racing over the events of the past two days, but his thoughts kept getting snagged on the previous night, on the healer's ominous words: "…_But then I told them it was for the King._"

People in the camp had begun to talk about the succession, about Thorin's heirs. And the talk scared Kíli more than anything… Not everyone was on his brother's side. He thought back to all that had happened in Rivendell… It seemed to have been preparing Fíli for this moment. Watching his brother's stoic, unflinching expression, Kíli wished he knew what he was thinking.

"Fíli…? You know what this means, don't you?" Kíli ventured warily. "You're… You're the rightful King Under the Mountain."

"I'm not a king!" Fíli growled, his voice suddenly coloured with anger. He turned to glare at Kíli and tore his hand from his grasp. "I've already told Óin that I renounce the throne… I have done nothing to earn the crown!"

Kíli blinked back the tears… The dwarf lying in the bed before him wasn't his brother, it couldn't be Fíli… And he feared Fíli had left most of himself back on the battlefield with Thorin. "But… But you killed Azog the Defiler!" he said, fighting to keep his voice even, wondering if Fíli would dare deny it.

"Not before he had as good as killed Thorin!" Fíli snapped back, tiny beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

"I know!" Kíli cried. Images of washing the blood from Thorin's arm flashed before his eyes… He could see Thorin's blood staining his hands. "I… I know… I just wish I could have been there…"

"Why?" Fíli asked; his voice was dangerously quiet, but sharp as an axe. He narrowed his eyes at Kíli.

Kíli wasn't sure he could begin to explain the guilt he felt at not being able to join his brother and his uncle in the fight out in that ill-fated corner of the battlefield. "I… I thought –"

"What? Have you got it into your head that what I did was brave or heroic?" Fíli spat, tears clouding the icy blue of his eyes. "There was nothing heroic about lying in a _ditch_, in my own blood, whilst our uncle bled to death at my side!"

"Fíli…" Kíli said his brother's name so quietly it was almost a whimper, begging him not to continue… His heart couldn't take it.

"I thought I was going to die… and I was _scared_," Fíli snarled, ignoring Kíli's plea. "I was terrified! I faced death like a coward… You don't want me for your king."

"I… I don't care," Kíli said, his voice higher, straining against the cry stuck in his throat. He tried to push some authority and conviction into his words: "I've told you before… You will be a good king."

"And I've told you before, you know nothing!" Fíli cried, lurching forward, his expression full of fire and pain.

Kíli staggered back from the bed, as if Fíli had struck him. His fingers shook and his wide, brown eyes were shining in the candlelight as he stared down at Fíli, who stared back, his bandaged chest heaving.

"I've lost him too, Fíli!" Kíli had meant to fill his words with as much anger as Fíli had, but in the end they only resounded with disconsolate despair. With that, Kíli left the tent.

The chill night air which welcomed him stung his cheeks and set his teeth on edge, although he knew it might not have been the air. Feeling utterly bewildered, Kíli looked up and down the row of tents, having no idea where to go… or who to turn to. He set off towards his own tent, but stopped when he saw the silhouette of a tall figure, looming large out of the blackness. Kíli thought it was Grefur – the last person he wanted to see at that moment – but then Dwalin appeared before him, his boots glistening with black orc blood. His face looked pale and gaunt, and there were dark shadows chalked underneath his eyes.

"Kíli?" Dwalin murmured, knitting his black eyebrows together.

Kíli opened his mouth, but no words came. He had been rehearsing what he would say to Dwalin all day… But now it all seemed so meaningless. He had nothing to say to anyone, and his strength was failing him. The grief he had been fighting back for two days finally broke through, flooding him with black, icy water, as if he were drowning from the inside out. Fíli had given up, so why shouldn't he?

"Dwalin…" Kíli's voice cracked on the second syllable, and he felt as if he was going to crumple on the spot.

"Oh, lad…" Dwalin strode forward. Putting a hand on the young dwarf's shoulder, he pulled him into his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

At first Kíli froze in surprise; he had never seen Dwalin embrace anyone before, and the action seemed so foreign. But then he buried his head in Dwalin's chest and let the last barricade built against his grief collapse. Once he began to cry, he couldn't stop. His shoulders shook with each of his sobs, and he screwed up his eyes against the pain. His bandaged hand was being crushed against Dwalin's chest, but he couldn't bring himself to care… He couldn't quite feel his fingers anyway. He was just glad Dwalin was there to stop him collapsing in on himself, and to make him feel, if only for a second, that he wasn't alone.

Dwalin didn't say a word; he didn't tell Kíli it was going to be alright, because they both knew it never would be. They stood in the blackness, united by their grief. With Kíli's defences obviously destroyed, Dwalin tried to fortify him against the unrelenting ache he knew only too well. After all, he had promised Thorin that if anything ever happened to him, he would protect his nephews to the end. Dwalin saw so much of Thorin in Kíli and Fíli, and now he felt as if he were clinging to the last shred of his best friend he had left, and nothing in all of Middle Earth was going to convince him to let go.

* * *

Fíli's head dropped back against the pillow and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out. His back was on fire and he could feel the scorch-marks running the length of his spine, as if Azog's mace had branded him. When he had lurched forward he was sure he had ripped the wounds open again, but the pain couldn't even begin to compare to the agony caused by his leg which lay splinted and bandaged beneath the bed sheets… He wished they had just cut it off to spare him this torture.

All he could remember was pain… His mouth had a foul taste of blood and leather, and his throat was burning and raw from screaming. Then an image of Kíli leaning over him flashed in front of his eyes… He remembered his brother trying to sooth him, and he had wanted to ask Kíli to kill him, to put him out of his misery… And then Kíli had said something and for a split-second he thought he had seen Thorin leaning over him… Thorin. He knew. As soon as he woke up for the second time, he knew. He could feel Thorin's absence in the world with every fibre in his broken body… And he blamed himself. The guilt had hardened his heart as he tried to protect himself against the oblivion of grief… And now he was sure he was losing his mind.

He was so angry… He had never been so angry… But he couldn't pinpoint why or who he was most angry with. He only knew that the pain was fuelling his rage, making it impossible to see straight… He couldn't even see through the hot tears blurring his vision, burning like his aching, heavy head. And then he heard it: a cry. At first it sounded distant, and he wondered if he was imagining it, but as his ears sought out the source it became clearer… And his stomach sank. It was Kíli. Somewhere, his brother was crying. That was all it took to melt away Fíli's anger and in its place, a wretched despair took hold.

The look on Kíli's face when he had shouted at him anchored itself at the forefront of his mind… Guilt and regret mingled with the pain… He couldn't believe the way he had spoken to Kíli – who had as much right to grieve as he did. This was why he was certain he was going insane… Just as his grandfather had done.

"Kíli!" Fíli's cry echoed around the tent, but Kíli's sobs continued somewhere to his right…

Was Kíli out there alone in the darkness? Fíli knew it was his doing; he had driven his brother away when Kíli had needed him the most… He tried to pull himself up onto his elbows, but daggers of pain shot down his back like the strike of a whip.

"Kíli!" Fíli collapsed back into his pillows, the soft fabric feeling like a bed of nails against his skin. "KÍLI!"

Kíli's cries stopped, and Fíli waited, each breath hitching in his throat… What if Kíli never came? What if he had pushed him away for good? At that moment he needed his brother more than ever… And the blackened, broken part of his mind told him he might never see him again. "Kíli…! KÍLI!" Fíli screamed out his brother's name as the fear began to sever his grip on reality.

Suddenly footsteps sounded outside the tent, and Kíli appeared, his face red from crying and his brow furrowed over his dark, bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Fíli choked out. He had thought he would feel relief if Kíli returned, but the pain and the despair only got worse. "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean…"

He was sure Kíli was going to leave again, but instead his brother suddenly rushed to his side. Dropping onto his knees next to the bed, Kíli pulled his arm from the sling and took Fíli's shoulders, placing his forehead against Fíli's so that their noses were almost touching. "I know… I know…" he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

It was how they should have first greeted each other, and Fíli grabbed Kíli's shoulders, embracing him, his fingers bunching around the fabric of his coat… terrified that he would leave him. "I… I think I'm going mad, Kíli…" he gasped, the tears falling freely down his cheeks.

"No, you're not," Kíli replied forcefully. "And you won't… I won't let you, I promise… And you're still the bravest person I have ever known…"

Fíli screwed up his eyes, knowing what Kíli was getting at. "I can't do it… I just can't..."

Kíli only held his brother tighter. "I know… I know…"

* * *

Balin was beginning to feel unnervingly outnumbered at this council meeting. In Dáin's tent, he and Gandalf sat at one side of the table, with an empty chair next to them which had been meant for Kíli, but he was refusing to leave Fíli's bedside. Dáin and four of his councillors were sitting opposite them, and they were hardly being subtle about their motives for the meeting.

"I still say there isn't a problem," a white-haired councillor piped up. "The lad doesn't want the throne, so we can't force it on him. We should be using this time to discuss more important matters, like the returning of the Arkenstone."

"My dear Nordul, the succession is not a trivial matter. It will determine the fate of Durin's folk for centuries to come and is far more important than any inanimate object, no matter how much it glitters!" Gandalf scolded, sitting back in his chair.

"We are going in circles," another councillor growled. "We have already said that this nephew of Thorin's is too young!"

"I realise that you all seek to place the crown upon Dáin's head," Gandalf said slowly, looking to Dáin as he did so. "But you are forgetting that even if Fíli refuses the crown, it will fall to his brother, Kíli, not Dáin."

A collective snort rose up from the group of councillors. "You've got to be joking?" Nordul said, with a smirk. "My twelve-year-old granddaughter has more of a beard on her than that pretty dwarfling. He'll be king over my dead body."

"Well, I am sure that can be arranged," Gandalf said pleasantly.

"You're very quiet, Dáin," Balin said carefully. "Are you as eager as your councillors to put yourself on the throne?"

"You speak as if I were a usurper, Balin," Dáin replied, being equally careful. "But what would you have me do? Not only is Fíli young and inexperienced, he is also denying his birth-right. I can't change his mind."

"I am sure he will come around," Gandalf said, smiling – if not out of hope, then to irritate the councillors. "But for now he is grieving and he is injured. Óin tells me his fever has only just broken. We must give him time."

"You're stalling, Gandalf," Dáin muttered.

"Yes, I believe I am," came Gandalf's good-natured reply.

"But you can't stall for another twenty years! The fact remains that he is still a bairn," the youngest, auburn-haired councillor said, looking to the others for nods of agreement. "A dwarfling can't be King Under the Mountain!"

"But he _can_ sit upon Dáin's council, Agrór?" Gandalf asked, with a wry smile. "You are only ten years older than Fíli, and I believe you were the same age as he when you were appointed?"

"Don't torture the lad, Gandalf," Dáin said, as Agrór's cheeks coloured. "He's earned his place."

"As has Fíli!" Balin said, with a frustrated sigh. "When Thorin was taken ill at Rivendell, he took his uncle's place as leader of the company and did an excellent job of it!"

"Ah yes, we've heard all about your company's consorting with elves," Nordul said slyly. "Exactly what we need from the King Under the Mountain."

"Fíli has proven himself an expert diplomat and negotiator," Gandalf snapped. "Which _is_ exactly what Erebor needs from its king. He is not motivated by greed or power, only by the love he bears for his kin."

"You say that now, Gandalf," Dáin murmured. "But have you also not said the same about Thorin, Aulë rest his soul? The gold sickness runs in that line. The greed will come."

"Thorin's blood also runs in your veins, Dáin. You are no safer from the gold sickness than Fíli," Gandalf replied curtly. He exchanged glances with Balin; they were both aware that they were fighting a losing battle.

"Still, none of you can deny Fíli's abilities as a warrior," Balin said firmly. "He did what all of us could not: alone on the battlefield, he brought down Azog the Defiler."

"And he was found clutching Thorin's oak shield," Gandalf added. "It is a sign. A sign that he, and he alone, is the rightful King Under the Mountain."

Nordul snorted. "So what? You would have us call him 'Fíli Oakenshield'?"

"_Fíli Oakenshield_?" Gandalf said quietly. "Yes, I quite like the sound of that."

* * *

**A/N: OK, that's all the worst parts over with… And in the next chapter we get to meet the elves! But I would recommend that readers who haven't read 'Family Tree' take a little look. I will be including a fic synopsis in my next chapter, but reading Chapter Seven of 'Family Tree' will probably explain a few things to come. For now, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys! So I've been dying to write this chapter all week, especially seen as your response to Chapter Four was so amazing (thank you so much!), but real life has been irritatingly intervening! **

**Now, before we go on with Chapter Five, I just thought I'd include a little synopsis of 'Family Tree', as I realise the final scene in this chapter might not make a whole load of sense to those who haven't read it:**

**In 'Family Tree', Thorin and Kíli are injured by wargs out on the plains. The company, rescued by Elrond, is taken back to Rivendell where his healers – including Arwen – treat Thorin and Kíli's wounds. With Thorin in a dire state, Gandalf forces Fíli to confront his status as Thorin's heir. Initially reluctant, Fíli grows into the role in Thorin's absence, but then his confidence is shattered when the recovering Thorin decides to send Fíli and Kíli back to Ered Luin, unwilling to risk further harm to his nephews. After an intense argument, Fíli storms off, believing his uncle has no faith in him and he doesn't have what it takes to be a king. He is found by none other than Estel, who manages to talk him round. Gandalf, in turn, persuades Thorin to let his nephews continue on the journey. A few days later, when the White Council is called, Thorin and his company sneak out of Rivendell and continue on towards Erebor.**

**An aside to the synopsis: I mistakenly pitched Estel's age at twenty-seven, forgetting the seventeen year gap between Bilbo's party and Frodo's leaving the Shire which isn't made explicit in the film. (*Intense Author Face-palm*) So yes, Estel is a little older than Tolkien intended, but he's so deeply embedded in my head-canon that I'm afraid I'm just going to have to call this another bit of artistic licence. My apologies! **

**And sorry for this enormous author's note, on with Chapter Five…**

* * *

Fíli winced as Óin dabbed the cold cloth at the stitches on his back. He was lying on his side, with the bed sheets pulled down to his waist and his bandages unravelled down to his abdomen, as the old healer cleaned the vicious wounds that ran parallel to his spine. It was getting colder as the morning slipped into afternoon; Fíli was sure that if he could see the sky it would be the colour of snow, and the air had the scent of a brewing storm. He could feel the hairs on his arms prickling with the cold as the skin beneath pimpled. Flinching again when the cloth touched the tip of the wound by his shoulder, Fíli ground his teeth. But at least it was a distraction from the pain shooting up his leg and the ache in his stomach caused by the arrow once embedded there. The vengeful, crippling pain in his chest, however, couldn't be dulled by poppy milk or any herbs Óin had in his store, and so Fíli lay there and silently let it rage.

A cough from Óin and the creak of a stool signalled that the healer had finished his treatment, and with impeccable timing, Kíli entered the tent.

"I've got a present for you," came his brother's gentle greeting, as he moved around the bed to see Fíli's face.

Kíli was holding a folded brown and gold blanket, stitched with a design he couldn't quite make out. He sat down on a stool at Fíli's side and held the blanket out to him.

"Ori's knitted it for you… This is your sigil, see?"

Kíli flattened out a patch of the blanket, and Fíli realised the design was indeed the interlocking lines of his sigil, woven in gold. He reached out a hand, his fingers shivering slightly as he traced one zig-zagging line; the wool was warm and soft to his touch. And then, quite unexpectedly, his lips were pulled into a smile. The movement of his facial muscles was slow and stiff, but still the smile fought its way through.

"It's beautiful," Fíli murmured. "Thank him for me?"

"You could thank him yourself," Kíli ventured carefully.

Fíli's smile vanished. His brow was dragged into a frown as he withdrew his hand. "I told you, Kíli," he said, an unmistakable edge in his voice. "I don't want to see anyone."

"I know… I'm sorry," Kíli said, looking utterly crestfallen, and also concerned that this faux-pas would have further repercussions.

Kíli and Óin were the only people Fíli had seen since his first, lucid awakening, and he knew both of them were taking great pains not to upset him. They had obviously drawn up a list of taboo subjects, and while Óin avoided blunders by hardly speaking, Kíli often froze mid-sentence or clumsily stumbled into a jarring change of subject. Neither was it lost on Fíli that Thorin's shield, which he had seen lying in the corner of his tent, had disappeared overnight.

Seeking to break the obvious tension between the brothers, Óin loudly finished packing up his medical chest. "Right, I want to let some air get to those wounds, Fíli… So if it's alright with you, I'll go get some food now and I'll move you onto your back in an hour or so."

Fíli nodded his ascent, and with that Óin left the tent.

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Kíli's eyes suddenly widened. "Fíli, you're freezing!" He put a hand on Fíli's arm, the bristling hair and goose-pimpled skin beneath his palm only confirming it.

"Here…" Before Fíli could protest, Kíli was unfolding Ori's blanket and carefully laying it over him. He spread it out up to Fíli's waist and then tucked in the rest over Fíli's arms, leaving his back still exposed to the air.

The blanket was actually a welcome relief from the cold… and it smelled of burnt wood and Bofur's cooking. Fíli's stomach knotted itself when he realised just how much he missed the company. His mind was a mess and he was so conflicted: he couldn't bear the thought of facing any of them, but still he longed to talk and laugh with them as if nothing had happened. The protective instincts that had surfaced in Rivendell also returned; he wanted to know that they were safe, that they had enough food and warm beds… And he knew he wasn't the only one grieving. They were leaderless, and he only wished he had the strength to be the leader they needed.

"How are they? The company?" Fíli asked quietly.

"Oh… Well, Ori is keeping himself busy, as you can see," Kíli replied, nodding to the blanket, obviously pleased with the change of topic. "Dori still enjoys fussing over him, and Balin is, er, dealing with Dáin and his men… Bofur's stews are becoming quite famous – we often get people circling round our fire in the evening… Bifur keeps going looking for Bombur. We haven't quite been able to get him to understand that he's gone back to Ered Luin for a while…"

Fíli's chest tightened as the image of his mother falling to her knees with a cry flashed before his eyes. Kíli froze, as if he had shared Fíli's vision, and a familiar look of regret and concern marred his features.

Knowing that, for the rest of their lives, no conversation would ever be free of such black triggers, Fíli fought through the constricting pain throbbing within his ribs where his heart used to be. "And Dwalin and Bilbo?" he pressed.

"Dwalin's, er, _walks_ are getting shorter," Kíli answered, managing a smile. "He's started taking meals with us too."

Kíli had initially been very cagey about Dwalin, but Fíli had finally got him to admit that out of the remaining members of the company, Dwalin had taken Thorin's death the hardest. Fíli knew Dwalin had been the one who found Thorin out on the battlefield, and he was sure Dwalin's grief rivalled his own. The cracked part of his mind that was slowly loosening his grip on the sane world often whispered that Dwalin wished he had died and Thorin had lived. Dwalin wasn't the only one who wished that.

"Fíli?" Kíli put a hand on his arm, pulling him from the perilous mire of his thoughts. He always did this whenever the blue of Fíli's eyes seemed to fade to grey, signalling that his brother was somewhere else, and he had to bring him back. "Did you hear what I said? Dwalin's doing a lot better…"

Fíli's eyes became alert again. "And Bilbo?" he asked carefully. He could sense Kíli was hiding something, and there was a reason he was yet to mention their burglar.

"We… We haven't seen much of him recently," Kíli admitted, shifting on his stool.

"Kíli." Fíli said his brother's name in warning, frustrated with Kíli's efforts to prevent his upset. He needed to know if Bilbo was alright – he was as much a part of the company as anyone else.

"Dori told me that Bilbo got in quite a state when they found him and told him about… about Thorin," Kíli said, looking at the floor. "At first he hid it well… But now I… I think he's suffering because he and Thorin never reconciled before…"

Suddenly Fíli found himself back on the battlefield. He could feel his own blood, hot and sticky beneath him, spreading out and colouring the dust, and he could see the sky blazing a poisonous yellow above him… And Thorin was there, lying beside him, only a few inches away, but he couldn't move, he couldn't reach him. _"Tell the Halfling… Tell Bilbo… I'm sorry…"_ Thorin's voice sent shivers ripping down his spine far worse than the spikes of Azog's mace and a tight fist closed around his heart with iron fingers.

"Fíli…? Fíli!" Kíli whispered urgently, his hand on his shoulder again, dragging him back into the present. "Oh Durin, Fíli, you're sweating…" He placed a cool hand on Fíli's forehead.

Fíli peered up at him, trying to control his shallow breaths. Kíli was studying him with the strangest expression on his face and, for once, Fíli couldn't tell what his brother was thinking.

"Did Thorin say something to you? About Bilbo?" Kíli breathed, his face pale.

Fíli couldn't quite believe Kíli had figured it out. "Yes," he answered, the single syllable almost getting stuck in his throat. "He… He wanted me to tell Bilbo he was sorry."

Kíli slowly withdrew his hand from Fíli's forehead, sighing with what Fíli guessed was relief.

"I should've said something sooner," Fíli murmured, the knot in his stomach only tightening when he thought of Bilbo's unnecessary anguish.

"No… No, it's alright," Kíli soothed, running a hand up and down his arm.

At that moment, Fíli knew he needed to be alone. The last flashback to the battlefield had taken its toll, but he daren't ask Kíli to leave. Ever since the night when Kíli had fled from his tent he had been scared of driving his brother away; the fear of him never returning still lingered in his mind.

"Have you eaten today?" Fíli asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I'll get round to it," Kíli replied, one eyebrow raised.

"Please… Go get something to eat, I won't have you starving yourself," Fíli urged, praying Kíli would take the hint.

"I'll wait until Óin comes back," came Kíli's answer, but then Fíli's lips unconsciously twisted into a grimace, and the truth dawned on him. "Oh… Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Fíli nodded grimly. "… Make sure you thank Ori for the blanket."

* * *

Kíli stood outside Fíli's tent, taking a moment to compose himself. There was a sickly feeling anchoring itself to his stomach, its black roots digging into his insides like claws. Óin could confirm that Fíli's injuries were healing, but Kíli knew his brother's other injuries, the ones Óin couldn't heal, were getting worse. Sometimes, while they were talking, Fíli would freeze and the light would go from his eyes. Kíli always managed to bring him back, but these episodes were becoming more and more frequent. Inhaling deeply, Kíli decided to put on a brave face for the company – he knew it was what Fíli wanted.

Following the smell of Bofur's stew, he headed down the row of tents. There was a group of Dáin's councillors gathered outside the main tent, and they stopped talking as Kíli passed. Balin had reluctantly filled Kíli in on the discussions of Dáin's council meetings, and what the councillors were up to. Although the meetings didn't seem to bode well, one positive thing that had emerged from them was Fíli's knew epithet: Fíli Oakenshield. The name had spread like wildfire through the camp, and everywhere it was whispered, support seemed to spring up for Fíli. The company had adopted it too, but Kíli knew Fíli was far from ready to hear it. He told Óin that it was never to be uttered in Fíli's presence, and he had tried to stop anyone saying it too close to Fíli's tent. He had moved the oak shield to Thorin's tent the night he and Fíli had argued, and he wasn't sure if Fíli had ever noticed its presence. Ignoring the councillors' piercing looks, Kíli walked quickly past them to the company's fire, which was crackling merrily to the right of the main tent.

"Kíli!" Bofur greeted Kíli with a cheery smile, as he always did. "We saved some stew for you, lad."

The whole company, save Bilbo, were present beside the fire. Dwalin shuffled up the bench so Kíli could sit down at his side. His dark blue eyes searched the younger dwarf's face as he settled next to him; Kíli's expression gave Dwalin the answer he was searching for, but no comment was made.

"Did he like the blanket?" Ori asked shyly, as Bofur handed Kíli a steaming bowl of stew.

"Of course, and he wanted me to thank you for it," Kíli replied, making Ori's eyes light up. "In fact, he cracked the first smile I've seen since he woke up." That, at least, wasn't a lie.

"But he still doesn't want visitors?" Dori said quietly.

"…No," Kíli answered honestly. "Not just yet."

There was a moment of silence, as if in mourning, and Kíli's appetite evaporated completely. He poked at the stew with his spoon, begging someone to fill the void of conversation that was becoming suffocating.

Sensing Kíli's distress, Dwalin muttered: "That raven has been sat there all morning." He nodded behind him, indicating Fíli's tent, where Kíli could make out the black silhouette of a raven, perched on the top of the tent's front pole like a weathervane. He had noticed the bird when entering Fíli's tent with Ori's blanket, but hadn't realised how long it had been there.

"The ravens have chosen their king," Óin said suddenly, without looking up from his bowl. "And they will keep watch until they see him crowned."

Kíli looked to Balin, and Balin smiled knowingly. The smile was half-way to Kíli's lips when he froze. He could hear Dáin's councillors laughing behind him and he was sure they had just said Fíli's name. Ears alert like a fox, Kíli listened as the company fell silent.

"… _Fíli Oakenshield_?" a councillor scoffed. "We don't need _another_ Thorin!"

In an instant Kíli was on his feet. He moved so quickly that he could hardly register his own movements and the camp was a blur until he found himself outside the main tent, glaring at the councillors, his face feeling hot and his heart throwing itself against his ribs.

"You're not worthy enough to even utter my uncle's name!" Kíli said, through gritted teeth.

The offending councillor, young and red-haired, turned to look Kíli up and down, his expression something close to amusement. The other councillors all fixed their eyes on Kíli, but some took a step back, indicating that their cohort was on his own.

"Kíli."

Dwalin had come to Kíli's side. He spoke in warning, but his expression was equally murderous – and probably the reason why a few councillors had recoiled.

Yet the youngest councillor, rather foolishly, appeared unfazed. "You really think your brother will be King, boy?" he sneered. "We all know his mind's touched… He's going to go the same way as Thráin. You should just put him out of his misery!"

Kíli lunged. A roar ripped from his throat as he launched himself at the councillor, one hand grabbing his coat, the other pulled back into a fist. He would have tackled the councillor to the ground and beaten him to within an inch of his life, but strong hands wrapped around his arms and dragged him back. Two councillors helped the younger straighten up, but he shrugged them off with a snarl. His black eyes burned into Kíli, and Kíli tried to lurch forward again, but Dwalin wrapped his arm across his chest, holding him back.

"If you utter another syllable I will put _you_ out of your misery!" Dwalin growled. "Actually…" Dwalin released Kíli's arm and reached behind him for his axe, Grasper, which was strapped to his back.

"Dwalin!" Balin said sharply, moving between Kíli and the councillor, who was pretending he hadn't flinched when Dwalin went for his axe.

Before Balin could restore order to the situation, Grefur appeared from the main tent, his expression furious as he looked from Kíli, being restrained by Dwalin, to the group of councillors.

"Have you been harassing one of my patients, Agrór?" he barked, and the young councillor noticeably cowered. It seemed Grefur's reputation had reached Dáin's council chamber. "Well?"

"That… That _animal _attacked me!" Agrór cried, regaining himself, and thrusting an accusatory finger at Kíli.

"But as you are a blithering idiot, I highly doubt it was unprovoked," Grefur replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Agrór. "Now I want you and your lot to clear off. I don't like politicians gathering in front of my tent. Makes the place look untidy."

With that, Grefur disappeared back inside the main tent, without as much as a glance at Kíli. It seemed the head-healer disliked politicians more than he disliked his patients, and Kíli was glad of it; it didn't take Agrór and his cronies long to stalk back down the row of tents. But the red-haired councillor's lingering look of malice as he walked away left Kíli rooted to the spot. Dwalin's hands were resting on his shoulders, and now served less as a restraint and more as a means to keep him upright. He was sure Dwalin could feel him shaking, and his face was burning as his eyes began to sting. The white-hot rage that had gripped him when he sprang at Agrór was gone – replaced now by an icy feeling of fear: fear that Agrór was right, fear that Fíli might fall prey to the same madness which stole their grandfather. He had promised Fíli he wouldn't let that happen.

Kíli knew then that he couldn't help his brother. But he also knew that there was someone in Middle Earth who could.

* * *

The air felt a little clearer and warmer as Kíli and Bilbo moved out of the shadow of the Mountain, heading towards the slopes on the west side of the river. Bilbo looked straight ahead, leading the way, and Kíli followed silently at his side. They had spoken only briefly about Kíli's request in Bilbo's tent; Bilbo had spent the remaining fifteen minutes apologising for the mess. The crumpled bedclothes, books lying sprawled, face-down on the floor, and scattered garments told Kíli that he hadn't been the only one having trouble sleeping. But at least the relentless apologies made him feel like Bilbo was still Bilbo, despite his absence from the company's fire.

"You're not wearing your sling anymore," Bilbo commented quietly, glancing across at Kíli.

"No… I think Grefur got bored of reminding me about it, so he's let me be," Kíli replied, unconsciously flexing his bandaged fingers.

Silence fell over them again, and Kíli decided there would never be a good time to come out with what he needed to say. "I spoke to Fíli this afternoon," Kíli began, though he was unsure of how to continue.

"Yes?" Bilbo murmured, wondering what response the young dwarf expected, as this wasn't an unusual occurrence.

"He told me something… about what Thorin said, out on the battlefield, before he…"

Bilbo slowed his step until he and Kíli came to a stop, turning to face each other. "Something?" The hobbit's eyes were shining as he peered up at Kíli, having obviously cottoned on to where this conversation was leading.

"Thorin wanted Fíli to tell you that he was sorry," Kíli murmured. "I'm afraid Fíli didn't tell me anymore…"

"No, no… That's more than enough," Bilbo said, his voice wavering. "More than I deserve." He closed his eyes and pinched his nose with a sigh. "I… I only wish I'd had a chance to speak to him again… to make proper amends…"

Kíli put a gentle hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking back the tears as he looked up at Kíli. "Oh, I'm sorry… Listen to me, going on like this… I know I have no right to say such things to you, of all people, Kíli."

"We're all allowed to grieve, Bilbo," Kíli said quietly. It was something he had heard Balin say to Dwalin, late one night when Dwalin had grown defensive over his excursions to the battlefield. It seemed the fitting thing to say now.

Bilbo nodded. "Right, yes… Look, we're almost here."

Their attentions turned from thoughts of the dead to thoughts of the living: Thranduil's camp lay just a little further up the slope. Kíli followed Bilbo with caution, aware that he was the first dwarf to approach the Elvenking's camp since the battle. The elves' tents were made of a ghostly white, the fabric patterned with silver vines and leaves. Kíli looked about him, unnerved that he couldn't see any shadows moving across the tents. His fingers itched for his sword or an arrow, but he and Bilbo had agreed it would be best to arrive unarmed. They had just passed the first few tents when two sentries appeared, as if from nowhere, blocking their path.

"Good evening, Eldir," Bilbo said genially, peering up at the tall, blonde elf and his companion.

"Good evening, Master Baggins… and _guest_," Eldir replied, his eyes moving to Kíli, making no attempt to hide his suspicion.

"This is Kíli, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo explained; the wince as he said Thorin's name was in his eyes, not his voice. "We must speak with Thranduil."

"And what is this regarding?" the second sentry asked, arching his eyebrows.

Kíli was reminded of the Elvenking's haughty gaze. All these blonde, impossibly tall wood elves looked the same to him – he had no idea how Bilbo could tell them apart.

"Our business is with your king," Kíli said, his voice dangerously low.

"And _our_ business is to prevent anyone bothering our king with trivial matters and to ensure his safety," the sentry shot back.

Bilbo quickly moved between Kíli and the elven sentries. "Please, Eldir, Cethe, we're unarmed… This is a diplomatic visit of great importance. You must let Kíli and I speak with Thranduil."

Eldir and Cethe exchanged glances, but seemed to reach an understanding that Bilbo and Kíli were not worth the trouble.

"If you would follow me," Eldir said, his gaze lingering on Kili. He then turned on his heel and continued on down the row of tents, heading towards a large pavilion erected at the row's end.

Kíli and Bilbo followed in silence, until they reached the pavilion and were shown in by Eldir. As soon as Kíli entered everyone fell silent. The hush seemed to give way to whispers as he and Bilbo made their way towards Thranduil, who was slouching in a throne placed on a dais at the other end of the tent. It was not as impressive as the Elvenking's great antlered throne of his woodland hall, but the king himself seemed just as aloof and formidable. Kíli thought he recognised Legolas, Thranduil's son, standing at the king's right side, but again, he wasn't sure he could tell these blonde elves apart. He could, however, recognise Tauriel, the fiery-haired leader of Thranduil's guard, standing to his left.

"Master Baggins and Master Kíli, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, your grace," Eldir announced, stopping at Kíli's side and giving a short bow.

Bilbo and Kíli took this as their cue to follow suit, and Kíli gave an awkward bow, his brown eyes remaining fixed on Thranduil as he did so. The Elvenking's expression was inscrutable… apart from a familiar look of boredom which masked any other impressions.

"If this is about the Arkenstone…" Thranduil began irritably.

"No, it's about my brother," Kíli cut across him, taking a step forward.

Thranduil shifted in his throne, a look of anger flashing in his cold eyes. It took the Elvenking a long time to answer – it seemed to take him a full minute to slowly arch one eyebrow – but finally he replied: "Thorin's golden heir? We hear he is refusing the throne."

Kíli could feel Bilbo cringing beside him, but he didn't begrudge Bilbo's passing this information onto the elves. They could sneer and smirk all they wanted, but at least they had no power to take the crown from Fíli.

"Yes," Kíli said carefully. "I can't change my brother's mind. No one in Dáin's camp can. But I think I know someone who can help. I need to speak to Estel, Lord Elrond's ward."

Whispers in an unfamiliar language, like the rustling of leaves across stone, circled around the pavilion. Legolas was studying Kíli with a curious expression, but Thranduil only looked annoyed.

"Well, I assure you we are not hiding Isildur's heir in this tent," Thranduil said dryly. "But this is intriguing… Why, pray tell, have you come to me with this matter?"

"Dwarves are not known for being fast riders," Kíli replied, as Thranduil leaned forward in his throne. He couldn't tell if the Elvenking was genuinely interested or mocking him. He bristled at the thought of the latter, but he forced himself to continue. "And this is an urgent matter. I was hoping you would be able to send an emissary to Rivendell, to ask Estel to come to my brother's aid."

At this Thranduil sat back with a smirk. "Oh, I see, you believe that because we are elves we can go bursting into each other's halls with messages from dwarves?"

Kíli felt colour flooding his cheeks. "No… I –"

"Is this not a matter for Gandalf to attend to?" Thranduil continued, his drawl rising over Kíli's words.

"I need Gandalf here to stop Dáin ascending the throne before my brother even has a chance to recover," Kíli said, his voice suddenly coloured with conviction. He glared at Thranduil, his hard, brown eyes belying his young dwarven years.

"Ada, I could go." Legolas suddenly stepped forward, his eyes moving slowly from Kíli to Thranduil.

"You will do no such thing!" Thranduil snapped, turning to his son. "You are a prince of the Woodland realm, Legolas, and I will not have my son reduced to a dwarf's messenger boy."

"But I know the path to Rivendell and I am one of our fastest riders," Legolas answered adamantly, surprising Kíli with the look of determination in his bright blue eyes.

"I need you here," Thranduil said, his glare warning Legolas that this was the end of their discussion.

"Wasn't it only this morning that you were pointing out how useless I am?" Legolas countered innocently.

Kíli saw Tauriel's lips twitch into a smirk and the ghost of a snigger swept around the pavilion. If looks could kill, Legolas would have been dead many times over, but he stayed hovering dutifully at his father's side, waiting for Thranduil's reply. Thranduil turned away from his son and his black gaze fell on Kíli.

"This matter is irrelevant," he said, a definite edge in his voice. "What I would like to know, master dwarf, is why you wish to send for a king who does not want his crown to counsel another king who does not want his crown. Do you believe that two reluctant kings make an eager one?"

The triumph in Thranduil's voice set Kíli's teeth on edge, but he was determined not to be beaten. He was done playing the Elvenking's games. "Estel and Fíli have an understanding. Estel knows the burdens of the crown better than anyone, and he once told Fíli that just because he doesn't want his own throne, it doesn't mean he doesn't want others to want theirs. He has managed to talk Fíli round before, and I'm sure he can do it again."

Kíli stared defiantly up at Thranduil, his shoulders shuddering slightly as he tried to regain his breath. Thranduil only stared back, his expression unfathomable.

"Please, if you won't do this for Kíli, do it for me," Bilbo said suddenly, taking a step forward. "This is the favour I ask in return… Send Legolas to Rivendell, and your debt is repaid."

Kíli looked from Bilbo to Thranduil, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The Elvenking sat stoically on his throne, his deadpan expression rendering his thoughts unreadable.

But finally he answered: "You have yourself a deal, Master Baggins."

* * *

**A/N: Wow, that was quite a bit longer than I expected, sorry! But well done if you've ploughed through it, and please do let me know your thoughts! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey everyone! Just a mini author's note to make up for the mammoth one last chapter: thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – you're all unbelievably awesome – and the soundtrack to this chapter is 'Sleeping Sickness' by City and Colour, give it a listen. Sorry I can't reply to your review, Milistasiadurin, but thanks so much for reading!**

* * *

The snow began to fall just as the lights of Dáin's camp came into view. The sky was a thick, inky black and so the flakes only seemed to materialise when they were already half-way to the ground. In the darkness, the snow looked almost grey, like ash settling at the foot of the Mountain. Kíli and Bilbo walked in silence; they had just watched Legolas ride off into the black of the western horizon, and Bilbo was in no doubt that Kíli was replaying this moment over and over again in his mind. Stealing a glance at his companion, Bilbo saw Kíli lift his head towards the sky, gazing up at the feathered flakes of snow with a flicker of childlike wonder in his eyes. It was a bittersweet moment for Bilbo; part of him was glad to discover that a shred of Kíli's youth had survived the battle, but he also knew how unlikely it was that this this fragile fragment would survive the next few weeks. The prince's innocence had come to an end.

"So that's where you've been disappearing off to," Kíli said suddenly, a nod behind indicating the diminishing spectres of the Elven tents.

"Yes," Bilbo replied softly. "Sometimes to Bard's camp too… I suppose I just found it difficult being – " He stopped, glancing across at Kíli with contrition.

"It's all right, Bilbo," Kíli murmured, a weary smile communicating that he was getting rather tired of people tip-toeing around him.

"Well… It's just that you and Fíli, you reminded me so much of Thorin… It became a bit too much to bear, when I thought of how we parted," Bilbo continued. "But I don't think I need to stay away anymore… And I have missed the company."

"We've missed you too," Kíli said quietly. "Bofur should be ready to serve supper when we get back, if you want to join us. I'm sure everyone wants to see you."

"I have missed Bofur's cooking," Bilbo smiled. "You would have thought after thousands of years the elves would have mastered the art, but their food is quite dull in comparison."

Kíli almost laughed as his gaze turned back towards the Moutain, but then a shadow fell over his face. The snowfall was growing heavier and the flakes were beginning to cling to their clothes. They melted in Kíli's hair, making thick strands stick to his forehead and neck.

"I hear Dáin's men are doing an excellent job clearing out the Mountain," Bilbo said, trying to avoid a return to grim silence.

"Yes," Kíli replied slowly. "Dáin knows winter is coming, and we won't survive it out here. They've almost got the Entrance Hall cleaned up – Dáin thinks we should be able to move the camp into there by the end of the week. And they're trying to make a few smaller rooms pass for inhabitable… as well as part of the vaults, for Thorin's funeral."

Kíli's expression remained stoic as he spoke, but Bilbo could tell he had more to say, so he stayed quiet.

"I know we can't wait forever, but I want to at least wait until Fíli is well enough to be there," Kíli said, keeping his eyes on the Mountain. "… But I hear the councillors are being cruel task-masters with the clearing effort. I know they're trying to hasten the funeral so they can hasten Dáin's coronation."

Although Kíli's obvious exhaustion prevented any venom from being injected into the words, Bilbo still felt the anger twisting itself into a tighter knot in the young dwarf's chest. Even Bard's men had heard of the greed of Dáin's council.

"Estel will come," Bilbo said, unable to stand the look of despair in Kíli's eyes. "He'll talk Fíli round, just you wait and see." He wasn't sure he believed it, but he knew they must hold onto what hope they had.

Kíli was about to reply when shouts from Dáin's camp reached their ears. His eyes met Bilbo's for a split-second, and then he broke into a sprint. Bilbo fought to keep up with him, the snow flying into his eyes, as they arrived at the end of the row of tents. The company's fire was abandoned, but a boiling pot still smoked, hanging above the flames.

Suddenly Bofur appeared, rushing down the row to meet them. "Kíli! The lads have just gone looking for you…We had no idea where you'd got to!"

"But I told Ori to –" Kíli began, just as Ori appeared, as if from nowhere, at his side.

"I'm so sorry, Kíli!" Ori cried, his eyes round and wide, his face looking as ghostly as the snow. "I was late to supper, and I didn't have chance to say anything before…" He trailed off, his terrified gaze flitting to his left.

"Before what…?" Kíli breathed. And then he heard his brother's voice, clear and terrible, echoing down the row.

"Fíli was asking for you, but we didn't know where you were… We panicked and told him you were missing," Bofur admitted, stumbling over the words.

"You did what?!" Kíli didn't wait for an explanation. Wanting to throttle Bofur and Ori was a new experience, but he pushed the thought from his mind as he set off in another sprint in the direction of Fíli's tent, only relieved that no one tried to follow him. He almost slipped on the snow that was beginning to settle on the frost-hardened ground, but still he hardly faltered. He didn't stop to draw back the tent door-flap and simply burst through it with an outstretched hand.

Fíli was sitting bolt upright in bed. His bandaged chest was heaving and his teeth were bared as Óin tried to wrestle him back into his pillows. As soon as Kíli appeared, he stopped struggling and his shoulders slumped, though his blue eyes remained hard and wary, as if he wasn't sure if he was imagining him. Óin spun around when his patient gave up the fight, and let out a sigh.

"About time!" the healer panted. "I'll leave you to it… But you make sure he doesn't try to get out of bed!"

Kíli nodded, and Óin quickly disappeared from the tent. He moved to sit down on the edge of the bed at his brother's side, and Fíli's gaze dropped to his lap.

"Óin told me you'd gone missing…" Fíli whispered, sounding breathless. Kíli could see his shoulders shaking. "I… I thought you'd left or that… I don't really know what I thought…"

"I was just with Bilbo… Ori didn't pass the message on in time," Kíli replied quietly. Fíli was still refusing to meet his eye, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. "You know I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, the brothers inclined their heads together, their foreheads touching, as they both tried to control their shallow breaths.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, his voice cracking. "I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you…"

"We're taking care of each other," Kíli replied firmly. "And you were half-way out of bed when I got here… You've got strength left in you yet."

* * *

Kíli's boots ground the fresh snow into the frozen layer beneath it with a satisfying crunch as he made his way to Fíli's tent. The camp was a hive of activity, and all around him he could see dwarves hurrying to and fro, preparing for the move. He slipped into Fíli's tent and scraped his boots on the bare earth at the foot of his brother's bed. Fíli was asleep. The incident earlier that week had taken its toll on him, and for the past few days they had only woken him for the small meals he could manage and to coax more medicine into him. Kíli wanted to see it as a positive that Fíli had managed to sit up in bed, but his brother's resulting exhaustion had dampened his spirits. At least this meant Fíli had not pressed the matter of Kíli's whereabouts, and neither had the company; the embarrassment over their mistake had ensured their silence. Kíli knew he would have to tell them sooner or later – before Estel's appearance revealed it anyway. Though he suspected Thranduil would eventually send word to Gandalf, and news travelled fast in Dáin's camp.

Waking Fíli was never a very pleasant experience for Kíli. When Fíli's eyes fluttered open there was always a flash of the brother Kíli recognised, but then his expression would become closed and stony, as the memory of everything returned. Kíli was scared that one day soon he would wake him and the flash would never appear, meaning his brother had truly fallen beyond his reach. Moving to Fíli's side, Kíli placed a hand on his shoulder, and prepared himself for that moment.

"Fíli?" Kíli said gently. His hand moved to Fíli's forehead and he smoothed back his hair. It was the way their mother used to wake them when they had to get up early for their studies or training.

Fíli stirred. His blue eyes, blurry with sleep, moved to Kíli. There was the flash of warmth and recognition which made Kíli's heart leap in relief, but then the light vanished and the blue hardened. Kíli tried to convince himself that the flash had lasted longer than usual this time.

"What time is it?" Fíli asked, his voice scratchy with sleep.

"Almost noon," Kíli answered, though he was almost drowned out by a crash from outside the tent, followed by several colourful insults barked by Grefur.

Fíli's eyes widened as he listened to the noises surrounding them. "What's going on?"

"We're moving into Erebor today," Kíli explained carefully. "Grefur sent me to wake you. We're going to move you in first."

"No."

There was no further comment, just a single icy syllable.

"Fíli…" Kíli began softly.

"No, Kíli," Fíli cut across him. "I mean it. I won't be moved in first. You move our people inside before you move me."

Kíli's stomach jolted; he hadn't expected that. And the way Fíli said '_our people_' – it was only one step away from '_my people_'. Maybe he said it because he wanted no special royal treatment; nothing to remind him of the throne he was refusing. But there was also a wilful look in his eyes, intimating that he might no longer care about himself, but he still cared about his kin. The determination in Fíli's voice suggested he might well match Thorin for stubbornness… And somewhere in the darkness, a flicker of hope was rekindled.

"Are you sure?" Kíli said slowly, and Fíli nodded. "Erm… I'll be right back."

Kíli straightened up and left the tent. Speaking to Grefur the Homicidal Maniac was not something he enjoyed doing, and the thought of contradicting the head-healer's orders made him unconsciously flex the fingers of his right hand, as if to check they were still attached. But the matter could be brought to no one else. With no sign of Grefur outside, Kíli made his way to the main tent. He found Grefur inside, with his team of healers scurrying around him as he told them exactly how incompetent they all were.

At the sight of Kíli, Grefur's growls ceased and he moved towards him. "Is the lad ready?"

"He doesn't want to be moved first," Kíli replied, trying and failing to put as much tenacity into his voice as Fíli had done.

"What?" Grefur snapped, narrowing his black eyes at Kíli.

"Fíli wants everyone else to be moved into the Mountain before we move him," Kíli repeated, with greater conviction.

Grefur stared at him for a long time, and Kíli prepared himself to duck when the older dwarf inevitably pulled out his right hook.

"My decision has nothing to do with your brother's status," Grefur said finally, and Kíli had never heard him speak so quietly. "We're moving him first because he has the most serious injuries. This cold isn't doing him any good."

Kíli wasn't quite sure how to answer; his mouth opened and closed without a sound as he tried to process the fact that Grefur seemed to understand Fíli's situation better than most.

"I don't think Fíli will see it like that," he murmured. "Please… If we try and move him now, I think he'll put up a fight."

Again, Grefur's eyes were fixed on Kíli for an unnerving amount of time, but then he let out a growl. "Fine!" He turned away. "If the lad has a death-wish I'm more than happy to grant it!"

* * *

Fíli kept his eyes focused on the roof of the tent whilst he waited. His gaze traced the outline of snow settled there, where the fabric darkened like an ominous cloud formation. He had drifted in and out of consciousness all afternoon, but was glad he hadn't properly returned to sleep. Waking up was painful. Every time he was dragged back to the world, he had to relive all that had happened to remind himself why he felt so hollow. It was like a wound being constantly re-inflicted, cutting deeper with each awakening. His only solace was that Kíli was usually at his side whenever he was brought back. Fíli was sure his brother was the only part of himself he had left.

His physical injuries, at least, appeared to be healing, and sometimes he found himself resenting that. His back no longer felt like it was on fire, and he could feel the scabbed skin crackling beneath him like dying embers. Even the pain in his leg had dulled to an ache, like everything else. So why was he still so sure that he was dying? Out on the battlefield, when he thought he would never make it back, he had been terrified… But now he felt very little of anything. That was, until Kíli had brought the news that he was to be moved into Erebor first, and then he had been distraught. He wasn't quite sure what had sparked his reaction – he only knew he had no right to be moved out of the snow before anyone else. The company and Dáin's men must go first. It was what Thorin would have done. Fíli's heart jolted when he thought of Thorin, as it always did. He had asked Kíli several times to move their uncle before they moved him, and he wasn't satisfied until Kíli returned with news that Thorin's body had been placed in Thrór's recently cleared-out bedchamber.

There was a sudden rustle and Fíli looked up just as Kíli entered the tent. He caught sight of the yellow glow outside before the doors of the tent flapped together. Kíli came and sat down at his side with a small smile.

"Shouldn't be long now," he said quietly, but there was a troubled look in his brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Fíli asked, furrowing his brow.

Kíli shifted on the stool, glancing towards the tent's entrance. "You're going to have to meet some of Dáin's healers, to move you into Erebor."

Fíli was aware of that; it was something he had been trying to prepare himself for all afternoon. But he suspected Kíli had more on his mind.

"We've prepared a room for you," Kíli continued, and Fíli could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "But the only way to get to it is through the Entrance Hall… And the new camp has been set up there. So when we move you in… Well, everyone is going to be there."

Kíli bit his lip; something Fíli hadn't seen him do for years. Fíli looked away, back up to the roof of the tent. "That's all right," he replied. It wasn't. It wasn't all right at all. But he knew there wasn't much he could do about that. He would just have to grit his teeth and bare it… And try and sleep it all off in the new dark of the Mountain.

"Would… Would you like me to retie your braids?" Kíli asked, rather tentatively.

"You don't want everyone to see what a wreck your brother has become?" Fíli said, and his tone was almost wry.

He hadn't expected the hurt that sprang into Kíli's eyes. "That's not what I meant," Kíli whispered.

"No… I know," Fíli replied, his voice full of remorse. "And yes, please… You know my own braiding never was as good as yours."

Kíli managed a smile as he set to work. He slowly slipped the silver bead from one of the braids of Fíli's moustache – which had become rather sad and limp – and carefully separated out the strands of golden hair, ready to be retied. A silence fell over the brothers as Kíli worked, and Fíli closed his eyes, trying to imagine them both back by the fire of their living room in Ered Luin. Their mother would be darning their socks as she hummed an ancient song, the words long forgotten, and Kíli would be constantly telling him to keep still and complaining about his own hair…

"Fíli?"

Fíli's eyes flew open. Had he been asleep? Had he dreamt the fireside scene in the West? He felt Kíli's tension before he turned to him, and lifting his head, he discovered that they were no longer alone in the tent. There was a tall, bald dwarf – who looked uncannily like Dwalin, if a little scarier – standing at the foot of his bed, and a crowd of healers standing behind him, spilling out of the tent. Fíli felt sick. He swallowed but couldn't relieve his raw throat. Trying to keep calm, he turned to his right and looked up at Kíli, who was now standing at his side. Kíli smiled in encouragement, but then his gaze moved to the bald, dour-faced healer who had come around to Fíli's other side. This could be no one but Grefur, whom Kíli had told him so much about.

"Evening, lad," Grefur said, with a stiff nod.

Four other healers – one holding a stretcher, vertically, at his side – shuffled into the tent. And then, to Fíli's horror, they all bowed. It was an awkward, unsynchronised performance, and Fíli was sure he was going to throw up.

"All right, enough of that!" Grefur said sharply, and the healers quickly straightened up and crowded around Fíli's bed.

The stretcher was laid horizontally and, with a healer holding it at each end, they aligned it with Fíli's bed. Grefur, Kíli, and the two other healers each took a corner of the bed sheet Fíli was lying on.

"This isn't going to be pleasant for you, lad," Grefur warned. "But it'll be quick, and then we'll have you settled in your new bed in no time."

Fíli nodded. Closing his eyes, his fingers curled into fists around his blankets.

"On three," Grefur instructed. "One… Two… Three…"

Kíli and the healers slid Fíli across onto the stretcher, pulling the bed sheet to the left and Fíli along with it. Fíli gritted his teeth as his back flared up in protest and a bolt of pain shot up his leg, but he didn't make a sound. And then he was moving. Opening his eyes, the yellowing canopy of the tent disappeared from above him, and was replaced by a white dome of cloud. It felt like an age had passed since Fíli had last seen the sky. In the fading light, the clouds were bluish and bruised, and there was a faint pink blush in the west where the sun was setting. A chill wind sent a few strands of hair fluttering across his face, and Kíli, who had appeared at his side, quickly tucked Ori's blanket in around his shoulders.

Trying to ignore the jarring movements of the stretcher, Fíli kept his eyes on the sky. Something black and cross-shaped was moving against the clouds. Squinting, Fíli realised it was a bird. His stomach convulsed when an image of crows circling in a burning yellow sky flashed in his mind. But it was too big to be a crow… It must be a raven. The bird seemed to think itself part of the convoy, and it followed them until they reached the Front Gate. The world had been eerily silent until that point, but when they passed into the Mountain, and the dark rock closed over their heads, a cacophony of sound reached Fíli's ears.

Breathing suddenly became painful. The shouts and the clanging and the crackle of fires made Fíli's head ache and he wouldn't turn to look about him, he only kept his eyes trained on the high, cavernous ceiling. But then, slowly, the noise faded and was replaced by an ominous hush. Whispers began to build like the wind. Fíli couldn't quite make out the words, but still the scattered syllables roared in his ears, and his stomach turned over and over again.

And then a single shout rang out in the darkness: "Long live the King!"

Fíli's heart stopped. Instead of searching out the source of the cry, his eyes darted to Kíli. All the colour had drained from his brother's face. The stretcher-bearers sped up their pace, jerking Fíli back against the sheets. As soon as they were clear of the Entrance Hall, Fíli lurched to his left and threw up over the side of the stretcher.

* * *

Having received news of a solitary Elven rider entering the valley from the east, Lindir had pulled on his cloak and descended the main steps, preparing to greet this curious visitor. Winter had come to Imladris and the air felt noticeably colder. Even wrapped in his cloak, Lindir felt a chill, and sincerely wished this rumoured rider would make greater haste.

After several idle minutes had slipped by, Lindir finally heard the clatter of hooves. A white horse cantered into the stone courtyard, and the hood of its rider's travelling cloak fell away, revealing the elf's light blonde hair. A few fly-away strands from his braids fluttered about his face. Lindir moved down the steps to meet him, wondering if he had come from Lórien or Mirkwood, or somewhere stranger.

The rider dismounted and stroked his horse's grey muzzle, whispering praises in lilting Sindarin. Reaching the bottom of the stone stairs, Lindir realised, with a jolt, that this was Legolas; Thranduil's somewhat wayward son. He was sure he recognised him as one of the elves Estel was forever bringing back to the Last Homely House to disrupt Lindir's schedule and increase his duties.

"_Mae govannen_," Lindir said carefully.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," came the blonde elf's urgent reply.

Annoyed by Legolas's skipping of pleasantries, Lindir answered curtly: "Lord Elrond is dining with his family. He does not wish to be disturbed."

"His family is the reason for my coming," Legolas said, undeterred. "I am here for Estel."

Of course you are, Lindir thought irritably. He mentally ran through all the arrangements he would have to make for guest quarters to be prepared and meals to be changed.

"Please," Legolas said quietly. "I have come from the Lonely Mountain. It has been a long journey and my last stop was days ago."

Lindir froze. He hadn't expected that. The Lonely Mountain had become a rather taboo topic after the company of dwarves had escaped during the night many months ago. He never expected to hear it mentioned again, especially not by an elf of Mirkwood.

"Very well," Lindir said, unable to deny his curiosity. "We will see that your horse is fed and watered." He nodded to a servant who had appeared from the stables and was waiting, cautiously, at the edge of the courtyard, and then turned back to Legolas. "If you will follow me?"

* * *

"We _do_ enjoy your visits, Estel… " Elladan said, with a smirk.

"…But this one has gone on rather longer than usual." Elrohir finished his brother's sentence, mirroring his smile.

"And we are getting a little sick of the sight of you," Elladan added pleasantly.

"Well, then you will be pleased to hear that I plan on returning north in the next week or so," Estel replied, catching Arwen's eye, and wishing he didn't get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Estel didn't mind Elladan and Elrohir's banter, but he was aware that everyone at the table was trying to cover for Lord Elrond's silence. Elrond hadn't said a word since they sat down to eat and his brow had been permanently furrowed. Most of his plate remained untouched. Elrohir opened his mouth to make another snide remark, but then Lindir suddenly appeared through the doorway onto the terrace, and he wasn't alone.

"Legolas! _Mellon-nin_!" Estel said, before Lindir could make introductions. He was so surprised to see his friend that he had to stop himself rising from the table and rushing to greet him. But Legolas didn't return his smile. Estel's mind began to race through possible explanations for his arrival… They had been hearing some disturbing reports from Mirkwood.

"I bring news from the Lonely Mountain," Legolas said, his expression sombre.

Estel's stomach lurched. He and Arwen exchanged a fearful glance; it was the message they had been expecting for months, but its messenger was unexpected. Estel's gaze moved back to Legolas.

"The dragon Smaug has been slain and Erebor is reclaimed," Legolas continued, his blue eyes inscrutable. "But there was a battle before the Front Gate. Thorin Oakenshield is dead."

Estel felt Arwen tense at his side, and he gently slid his hand over hers under the table. She turned to look at him and her eyes were shining.

"And his nephews?" Estel breathed, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

"Kíli sustained only minor injuries, but Fíli was seriously wounded trying to protect his uncle," Legolas replied. "And now he has renounced the throne. He will not speak to anyone save his brother and their healer, and the dwarves fear for his mind. Kíli came to my father and requested that we send word to Rivendell; he asks that you come to Fíli's aid."

"Of course," Estel said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Of course I will come. Delaying my return north will pose few problems."

"I will come with you," Arwen said suddenly, and all eyes moved to her.

"No, Arwen," Elrond said reprovingly, speaking for the first time, though the deep lines in his brow remained.

"Ada –" Arwen began to protest, but her father silenced her.

"It is a long and dangerous journey to the Lonely Mountain. If this is your attempt at alleviating your guilt over letting Thorin's company escape –" Elrond paused. The hurt in his daughter's eyes told him he had gone too far. "Arwen…" he continued, his voice softer.

"I sent Thorin to his death," Arwen said, her voice trembling only slightly as she spoke over him. "I owe it to his kin to help where I can."

Elrond sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I know you will go, whether I allow it or not," he said quietly. "But I will not have you and Estel travelling alone. Your brothers will accompany you."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances, but didn't comment. They knew better than to question their father's judgement. Estel kept his hand pressed over Arwen's and he could feel her fingers trembling beneath his palm, but his eyes remained fixed on Elrond.

"Did you foresee this?" Estel asked carefully, wondering at Elrond's troubled silence over dinner.

Elrond took a long time to answer, but finally he murmured: "Yes. We all did."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter, guys, but I'm afraid that with my finals looming I can't guarantee regular updates – I'll just try not to leave you hanging for too long. Please do review and let me know your thoughts!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey guys! As always, an enormous thank you to all my readers for helping me preserve what little sanity I have left. So, I thought I'd take a break from exam prep because I was starting to draw tenuous parallels between Shakespeare and The Hobbit. ****('****Let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings…') **

**But I've decided that after this chapter I'll need to take a break whilst I'm sitting my finals – just to make sure I actually graduate from university! It'll only be a couple of weeks, though, and then I'll be back with regular updates. Now, on with Chapter Seven, with some extra Estel/Legolas bromance for Gratia Astra!**

* * *

A single bead of sweat slipped down the side of Kíli's forehead as he dug his spade into the rubble. Metal scraped against stone, and as Kíli deposited the heap of debris to his side, his nostrils stung with the cold smell of damp earth and the strange, smoky stench the dragon had left behind. They were clearing out the passage-way to the larder and storerooms. The stone ceiling of the arched entrance-way had collapsed, but Dáin was convinced that the storerooms themselves had remained intact, and they needed the space. The digging party was also hopeful that it might find pots and pans, or tools, or even some rare herbs known to keep for years and years.

Kíli sank his spade back into the rubble, one foot on the lug to push it further into the stony earth. One of the knuckles on his right hand was bleeding. He had split open the stitches at the bottom of his index finger, but he said nothing. He needed the distraction of helping with the clearing effort. The dwarves he was digging with knew who he was, but they hadn't commented; they only passed him a spade and told him where to start. Kíli was joined by four dwarves shovelling rubble from the floor, and there were another three who had climbed up the mountain of debris and were loosening the larger stones with picks and axes. They worked in silence, and Kíli wondered if, had he not been there, they would have been joking and laughing.

In the gloom of the mountain, Kíli had soon lost his sense of time. Minutes, hours, days; in the dark, they all blurred into one another. How long ago was it that he had watched Legolas ride off towards the West? Days? Weeks? Kíli didn't know. He supposed it was early evening now, and he had been digging all day - since dawn. Guilt made his chest ache like his sore limbs, but part of him knew Fíli would have barely noticed his absence. The original plan had been to move Fíli into Thrór's bedchamber, but Kíli had changed his mind on the day of moving, realising Fíli would be mortified at the gesture. Instead, Fíli had been settled in a room just down the corridor from Thrór's. The room hadn't taken much cleaning up, and by some small miracle they had found two wooden bed frames, a little scarred but intact, so that the brothers could share the room in comfort. Two days after the move, Dwalin told Kíli that the room had once belonged to Thorin and Frerin. Kíli decided not to tell Fíli that.

Fíli was now able to sit up in bed, but all he had asked for was his pipe. He spent the days either sitting in bed, smoking and staring at the opposite wall, or sleeping. Or pretending to be asleep. Kíli had shared a room with his brother for seventy-seven years, and it hurt to think Fíli hadn't realised Kíli would be able to tell when he was asleep and when he was feigning it. But Kíli had finally taken the hint. Fíli didn't want to speak to him, or anyone, and so he left his brother alone.

Kíli slammed the head of his spade into the rubble with more force than was necessary as a new set of footsteps echoed around the passage walls behind him.

"Kíli?"

Kíli slowly turned. It was Balin.

"It's almost time for supper," Balin said gently. "Come along and get cleaned up, laddie. You've done enough for today."

The other dwarves had stopped working. The leader of their digging party, standing next to Kíli, was leaning on the grip of his shovel and eyeing the young dwarf with a small smile. "Aye," he agreed. "You've been a great help, lad. Go and get some well-earned rest."

Kíli nodded reluctantly and handed over his spade. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The dwarf didn't try to contradict him, even though his eyes lingered on Kíli's bloodied knuckle. Kíli sensed he had more to say to him, but thought better of it. And so he let Balin lead him away before anyone had chance to ask about his brother.

* * *

"Has Óin been in to Fíli today?" Kíli murmured, not turning to Balin as they made their way towards the Entrance Hall camp.

"Aye, he saw him this afternoon," Balin replied carefully. "He says his back is almost healed. It will scar, of course…" Balin trailed off, glancing across at Kíli with sadness in his eyes.

Kíli didn't say another word until they reached the Entrance Hall and the company's fire. Everyone was assembled for supper. Bifur had been left in charge of the smoking cauldron of stew, as Bofur was sitting behind him, paring what appeared to be a tree branch with his carving knife. Kíli drew up next to him, and his heart jolted when he realised what Bofur was doing.

"Kíli, lad!" Bofur looked up and greeted him with his usual cheer. Kíli's eyes didn't move from his knife. "Oh… I, er, know they don't look like much now, but they'll be fully functioning crutches in no time! I made a pair once for Bombur, years and years ago… But seen as Óin tells us Fíli is on the mend, I figured he'd want to be up and about soon."

Kíli stared at Bofur, his eyes beginning to sting; if nothing else, Bofur's endless, unfailing optimism would see them through. He managed a smile, and Bofur returned to work. Balin had set up a basin of warm water beside the fire, and ushered Kíli over to wash his hands and face. He was scrubbing the dirt and grime from his fingers when a soft, deep voice sounded behind him.

"My dear Kíli."

Kíli straightened up. Grabbing a cloth to dry his hands, he turned around to find Gandalf standing in front of him. The wizard's blue eyes were bright with a secretive, yet joyful glitter. He moved forward and put both his hands on Kíli's shoulders.

"This is why I have such faith in the small things," Gandalf said quietly, and his smile was so wide it was unnerving.

Peering around Gandalf's towering, grey form, Kíli could see the rest of the company were staring at them both with eyebrows raised.

"Fíli will not seek help, therefore help must seek Fíli," Gandalf continued, his voice conspiratorial, but full of warmth.

Kíli sighed, his gaze dropping to his feet. "Thranduil told you?"

"Yes, I was dining with him today and enquired after his son," Gandalf answered. "He appeared to have forgotten he had a son, but then he remembered he had sent him off on a rather important errand… Or rather, it was _you_ who did the sending."

"What's he talking about, Kíli?" Dwalin said, in the growl he reserved for when Gandalf refused to talk plainly. Dwalin never had time for a wizard's riddles.

Gandalf moved away and went to make himself comfortable on the bench at Balin's side, leaving Kíli exposed to the enquiring stares of the company. Kíli looked from Gandalf, to Dwalin, to Bilbo – the only member of the company who knew what was coming. Of course, this moment was inevitable, but surely if Kíli admitted he had sought help from elves and a man they barely knew, it would reveal just how serious Fíli's condition actually was, and how desperate they were getting. Yet, Gandalf had successfully backed him into a corner.

"I sent word to Rivendell," Kíli said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I've asked Estel to come to Erebor, to speak to Fíli… about the succession."

A ripple of concern swept through the company. Brows were furrowed and nervous glances were exchanged. Only Dwalin kept his eyes fixed on Kíli. The truth, which most of them had secretly suspected, was finally laid bare: Fíli's mind was not recovering with his body, and he would continue to renounce the throne unless something or someone intervened.

"Who did you send?" Dwalin asked, and everyone's eyes returned to Kíli.

"Legolas, Thranduil's son," Kíli replied. Feeling the need to defend his decision, he added: "He's a fast rider and knows the way to Rivendell."

Dwalin grunted something inaudible.

"Dwalin," Balin warned. He turned to Kíli with the same sad smile the younger dwarf had glimpsed in the periphery of his vision when they were walking back to the Entrance Hall.

"You did right, lad," Dwalin said, with a sigh. "I just don't like the idea of that pointy-eared pixie thinking we owe him anything."

"We don't," Bilbo suddenly piped up, and all eyes turned to him. "I… I gave them the Arkenstone, and in return they've sent Legolas to Rivendell… Our debts are settled."

There was a silence as everyone mulled over this news. Mention of the Arkenstone and Bilbo's betrayal always created unease, but luckily Bofur, as ever, was on hand to diffuse the situation. "Well, one more face around our fire will be more than welcome," he said, beaming. "The more the merrier, I always say!"

With that, the company set about serving supper, and it wasn't until Gandalf stood up to receive his bowl-full that they realised Dáin's squire had been standing silently behind him for Aulë knows how long.

"Osrin!" Balin cried, when he caught sight of the young, dark-haired squire.

Balin had taken the ever-anxious Osrin under his wing, and Kíli couldn't quite remember the last time he had seen a dwarf who had fewer hairs on his chin than he did. He had the look of a baby owl about him, and Kíli wasn't quite sure how he had managed to survive the battle.

"And what can we do for you this evening?" Balin asked kindly, when Osrin stayed silent.

"My lord Dáin asks that Master Kíli take supper with him tonight," Osrin replied, his large brown eyes locking on Kíli.

"Dáin?" Kíli said quietly. He hadn't seen Dáin since the battle, even though this wasn't the first time the Lord of the Iron Hills had sent for him. After the incident with Agrór, Kíli had decided he would be quite content if he never saw his cousin again.

"Dáin is not your enemy, Kíli," Gandalf said carefully, his blue eyes reading Kíli's thought processes in his expression. "Whatever you may think, he does not wish you ill."

"Aye, he's been quiet as a mouse at our council meetings," Balin added. "He may be a terrible judge of character when it comes to appointing councillors… but he is still your kin."

Kíli wasn't in the mood for politics – not that he ever was, but the thought of sitting at a table with Dáin and his councillors made him feel physically sick. Durin help Agrór if he was there; Kíli would show him just how much damage he could do with a fork.

"Dáin isn't dining with his council this evening," Osrin said suddenly, and Kíli wondered where all this telepathy had sprung from. "He wishes to speak with Master Kíli alone."

Knowing he would probably regret it within minutes, Kíli sighed. "All right," he murmured. "I'll come."

* * *

"Kíli! Come in, come sit!"

Dáin greeted Kíli with a firm hand on his shoulder and ushered him into his tent, which was by far the largest of the main camp, and set a little apart, away from the draughts of the Front Gate. A table, with a chair at each end, had been set with a spread of colourful food, which seemed far too much for just the two of them.

"Ale?" Dáin asked, as Kíli took a seat.

Kíli nodded, and Dáin filled a silver tankard next to his plate. He then returned to his chair, opposite Kíli, and filled his own, newly-polished tankard. It seemed a completely different world to the company's fire and the mismatched bowls and cutlery.

"I hear you're doing a splendid job helping out with our clearing effort," Dáin said, smiling as he filled his plate from the pile of food in front of him.

Kíli tentatively picked at the cuts of salted pork closest to his plate. "I've been working with the diggers trying to clear the way to the storerooms," he answered quietly.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Kíli made no effort to fill it. He had heard about awkward family dinners from many people, but had never actually suffered one before. Back in the Blue Mountains, he and Fíli had been forever causing mischief at the dinner table, brandishing their cutlery, and fighting over food. Their mother and Thorin had constantly scolded them, but then sometimes Thorin had joined in with their antics and Dís had to reprimand all three of them. There had never been a dull moment at their mealtimes… But now Kíli's appetite completely evaporated when he realised that he would never again share a meal with his uncle. He would never engage in a sly game of food-stealing, placing bets with Fíli on how long it would take Thorin to notice his chop had disappeared from his plate. And never again would they all enter into a competition of catapulting their unwanted vegetables across the room with their forks when Dís' back was turned. Looking back, Kíli realised how childish it all was… But still his whole body seemed to ache at the loss.

"I wanted to apologise," Dáin began suddenly, breaking the silence.

Kíli's head snapped up from his plate as he was dragged painfully back to the present.

"I heard about the incident with Agrór," Dáin continued, setting down his knife and fork. "And I just wanted you to know that he's been given a warning."

Kíli tried to avoid Dáin's eye, but it was difficult when his cousin seemed intent on searching out his gaze. He didn't want to talk about Agrór, or what he had said… The memory of it still stung, and made Kíli unconsciously fold his fingers into fists… _He's going to go the same way as Thráin. You should just put him out of his misery!_

"You have to understand that Agrór isn't as old or wise as he thinks he is," Dáin said slowly. "The lad hasn't a scrap of common sense… But he's very good with my finances and I, er, owe his father a few favours."

Kíli didn't say anything. He knew Dáin meant well, but if his ulterior motive for the dinner was to apologise for his scheming councillors, he had misjudged what Kíli really had on his mind.

"And how is Fíli?"

Kíli's heart jumped into his throat. Dáin hadn't misjudged at all.

"Oh…" Kíli fumbled with the words in his mind, and in his panic he replied: "I… I haven't actually spoken to him today."

Dáin studied him with a curious expression, and Kíli's eyes widened when he realised his mistake. Kíli didn't want Dáin to know that grief was slowly but surely driving a wedge between him and Fíli… and that fact was slowly but surely destroying him.

"Kíli… I'm afraid I must be blunt with you," Dáin said, with a sigh. "I have to ask you: if your brother doesn't change his mind, do you want the crown?"

"No!" The single syllable flew from Kíli's mouth as if it were a reflex reaction. "No…" he repeated, his voice softer. "I couldn't do that to Fíli."

Dáin nodded. "But would you object to my becoming King, should Fíli permanently refuse?"

Kíli stared at Dáin for a long time as his whole horrifying future stretched out before him, and his mind raced through what would happen if Fíli never got better.

"No," he said finally, but he wasn't going to elaborate on it.

"It was just an issue I needed to resolve with you, for my own mind," Dáin murmured. "But, of course, if I am crowned, you and Fíli shall still be princes of the realm and will have all that your titles deserve… And I would be honoured to have you sit on my council."

"I don't care about my title or the privileges that go with it," Kíli said darkly, and he rose from the table.

Dáin rose too, and it was clear that their meeting was over. Gandalf was right that Dáin didn't mean Kíli or Fíli any ill, but still he didn't understand what really mattered to Thorin's youngest nephew. Kíli would have given away all the gold in Erebor to see Fíli happy again, but he knew now that the vultures were circling, and time was running out.

* * *

"So, Arwen volunteered herself to accompany you," Legolas said slyly, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Estel's gaze flitted to his left, where Arwen lay asleep, wrapped in her travelling cloak. She hadn't slept the last time they made camp, and Estel had never seen her so worried. His eyes moved back across the fire to Legolas.

Although Elladan and Elrohir were out of earshot, bedding down the horses for the night, Estel answered carefully: "She has not come for me, she has come for Fíli."

Legolas's smirk didn't waver. "Did she ever find out who sent the letter?"

"I cannot believe you remember that," Estel replied, his lips involuntarily twitching into a smile at the memory.

"Ten years is not a very long time for an elf," Legolas countered, beginning to enjoy himself. "And you have not answered my question."

"She never said anything… but it was fairly obvious who the sender was," Estel said, avoiding Legolas's gaze, turning over the blackened leaves of the fire with a tree branch.

Legolas's eyes, bright with reflections of the fire, moved from Estel to Arwen, registering just how close Elrond's daughter was lying to Isildur's heir. "I do believe you owe me money," he said furtively.

"That wager is not yet won," came Estel's reply, as he continued to stare into the fire. "She has said nothing of the sort to me. And it was a childish bet... best forgotten about."

Legolas leaned back, and Estel's gaze finally met his. "You have grown up, _mellon-nin_," Legolas whispered, and there was a strange sadness in his eyes.

Silence fell over the pair, and Estel decided a change of subject was in order. "How bad was the battle?" he asked, turning from the past to the present, and what awaited them once they reached the Lonely Mountain.

"The dwarves and Bard's men suffered heavy casualties," Legolas answered. "We lost a fair few of our own too. The orcs were all slaughtered and we chased the goblins back to the mountains… there were not many who could outrun us."

Estel had suspected that they had the elves of Mirkwood to thank for their relatively easy crossing of the Misty Mountains. "You said Thorin was slain by Azog the Defiler… Did he survive long enough to be returned from the battlefield? …And how did Fíli come to defeat Azog?" These were uncomfortable questions to ask, but Estel knew he needed to be aware of the specifics if he was to understand Fíli's plight.

"We only know what the hobbit told us," Legolas said slowly. "And even parts of that were hearsay. The only person who truly knows what happened is Fíli."

Estel nodded, but his silence urged Legolas to continue, hearsay or not.

"Thorin went missing during the close of the battle, and Fíli went to look for him," Legolas said, his brow furrowed as he ran over all he heard from Bilbo. "Even the halfling doesn't know how the confrontation unfolded, but the dwarves found Thorin already slain and Fíli unconscious in a far corner of the battlefield. It seems Thorin had strength enough to speak to his nephew before he died, but Fíli has not been forthcoming about what was said."

Estel made a steeple with his fingers, and rested his chin on his fingertips with a sigh. "And Azog?"

"The Pale Orc lay dead when the dwarves arrived… Fíli's sword was bloodied and he was clutching Thorin's oak shield."

Estel's eyes darted up from the fire. This was a development he hadn't expected. "Thorin's shield?"

"Yes… Fíli's supporters in Dáin's camp have taken to calling him 'Fíli Oakenshield'."

"People are quick to compare kings," Estel whispered. "There is much of Thorin in Fíli, but if he is to be a king, he must remain his own person."

"The dwarves have put an extraordinary amount of faith in you," Legolas said, after a pause. "And this trust between the elves of Rivendell and Durin's folk is virtually unheard of."

"Yes," Estel conceded. "We spent quite an eventful week together this summer. Arwen became close to the family when nursing Thorin and Kíli, and I talked Fíli round after a rather furious argument with his uncle." Estel looked down into his lap and added, almost guiltily: "And then Arwen and I helped Thorin's company escape Rivendell when the White Council was called to stop them."

Legolas couldn't help but smile, secretly impressed by his friend's show of rebellion. "The dwarves also escaped my father, though I had nothing to do with that."

Estel and Legolas returned their eyes to the fire, silently listening to the black crackle of the flames, watching the curled sparks kicked up by Estel's branch vanish into the darkness.

"Do you think you can help Fíli?" Legolas asked finally, without looking up.

"I do not know," Estel replied softly, closing his eyes. "But I hope so. I really do."

* * *

"No… No! …THORIN!"

Kíli lurched bolt upright in bed, woken by his brother's screams. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, Kíli threw off his blankets, and rushed to Fíli's side, scrambling onto his bed. Fíli was lying on his side, facing the wall, and his uninjured leg was kicking at his mattress as he manically twisted his bed sheets in his fists.

"Fíli! Fíli, wake up!" Kíli cried, wrapping his arms around his brother, and trying to loosen his grip on the sheets.

The nightmares had started the night Dáin had asked Kíli to supper, and every night since he had been woken by Fíli's cries for Thorin. Last night Fíli had clutched the sheets so tight he had drawn blood, and Kíli was determined for that not to happen again. He closed his own hands around Fíli's, rocking him ever so slightly as he quietened.

"Shhh… I'm here," Kíli soothed. "You're not alone."

After the first night, Kíli had learned not to tell Fíli it was all right, or that they were just dreams. Because it wasn't all right, and from Fíli's cries, Kíli could tell he was returning to the battlefield… and that hadn't been a dream. All he could do was let his brother know he was there, and Kíli was beyond relieved that every night Fíli let him comfort him, and didn't push him away. But when morning came, Fíli never said a word about what had passed during the night, and returned to smoking his pipe and feigning sleep.

Kíli felt Fíli's fear slowly ebbing away, and he grew limp in his arms, but he wasn't asleep, he was just exhausted. It only made Kíli hold him tighter, as he blinked back the tears. "Don't give up now, Fíli," he whispered. "You can't give up… You have to hang in there…"

And as a dwarf clung to his brother in the dark, begging him to keep fighting, five riders were galloping past the smoking ruins of Lake-town.

* * *

**Coming up after the break: Estel and his Elven entourage arrive in Erebor, and Fíli finally makes some tentative, but promising progress. That's a tiny sneak peak for Chapter Eight, folks, but in the meantime, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey everyone! I have returned! I've made it through my finals – sleep-deprived, but with most of my sanity intact – so here is Chapter Eight to celebrate. I'm really sorry about the delay with this chapter, but thank you all for being so patient. The thought of writing this got me through my exams, so I really hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"What in Durin's name are all these elves doing in here?!"

Kíli's eyes snapped up from the breakfast he had been contemplating, but not eating, as the disgruntled shout echoed around the Entrance Hall. He twisted around in his seat, searching out the source of the cry, and his heart leapt. A group had formed before the Front Gate; a white-haired councillor, who was flanked by other politicians and some of Dáin's men, was barring entry to a newly-arrived party… who were all at least a foot taller than their confronters. Legolas's light blonde hair was easily distinguishable amidst the blur of black and brown, and Kíli narrowed his eyes as his gaze moved to scrutinise the figure standing next to him. He was no elf. It was Estel.

Almost dropping his untouched plate of sausages, Kíli leapt to his feet, as did the rest of the company. It took Kíli an enormous amount of self-restraint to stop himself charging towards Estel and Legolas at full speed, but he managed to slow his step to a purposeful stride as his heartbeat began thudding manically in his ears. Dwalin and Balin appeared at his side, and from the cacophony of footsteps, Kíli guessed the rest of the company were following close behind. As he drew closer, Kíli realised Estel and Legolas were not alone; two dark-haired elves were standing behind them… His stomach did another flip. Elladan and Elrohir had also ridden out from Rivendell.

Kíli reached the grumbling crowd of councillors and vexed soldiers, which immediately parted to let him through, and all eyes turned to him with looks of suspicion and wary curiosity. Everyone fell silent, but the unnerving hush didn't stay Kíli's smile. He couldn't remember the last time there had been cause to smile, so he fully embraced this moment of hope and relief. "Estel!" he beamed.

Having meant to stop when he reached the front of the crowd, Kíli was surprised when he found himself still moving forward, but Estel seemed to have read the mixture of joy and relieved exhaustion in his expression, and understood. He bent down onto one knee and opened his arms to Kíli, who gladly embraced him as if he were a returning brother. That thought made Kíli tense, and Estel pulled away, keeping his hands firmly on Kíli's shoulders.

"It is good to see you, Kíli," Estel murmured, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"Thank you for coming," Kíli said quietly, trying to ignore the mutters that were stirring around them.

"I only wish we were meeting again under better circumstances," Estel replied, and the familiar ache returned to Kíli's chest.

He nodded, his gaze momentarily dropping to his feet, but then he looked up and peered around Estel to greet Elladan and Elrohir. And his heart jolted. There was yet another unexpected visitor: Lady Arwen was standing behind her brothers. Elrond's sons had taken a protective stance in front of their sister, their fingers poised on the handles of their swords, but Arwen seemed more than annoyed by their behaviour. She caught Kíli's eye and moved passed Elladan and Elrohir, shaking the snow from her purple travelling cloak.

"Kíli." She came to Estel's side as he straightened up.

"My lady," Kíli said, managing a smile. "We weren't expecting you."

"I had to come," Arwen whispered, taking Kíli's hands in her own. "We are all so sorry for your loss."

Kíli's eyes dropped to his feet once more; he had nothing to say to that.

"All right, enough of this!" growled the white-haired dwarf to Kíli's right.

A row of councillors stood behind him, wearing expressions of varying degrees of incredulity. This show of trust and affection between an elf and dwarf, which none had ever witnessed before, had obviously unsettled all of them.

"What are they doing here, boy?" the dwarf demanded, when Kíli stayed quiet.

Kíli glanced across at the councillor, but ignored the question. "I think there might be two rooms available on the old guard corridor," he said, looking to Estel. "We finished clearing the second one early this morning."

"Those rooms are being prepared for Dáin!" the old councillor spat, advancing on Kíli with a look of menace. Kíli felt Dwalin tense and shift closer to his side.

"I'm sorry we haven't got more space… I just wasn't expecting anyone but Estel," Kíli continued, undeterred.

"I am sure we will manage," Estel said, clearly impressed by Kíli's steadfast show of defiance.

"Estel can stay with us," Elladan put in, indicating Elrohir. "Arwen can have the second room."

Estel glanced behind at Elladan. "Arwen and I could –"

"No," Elladan said simply.

"We will not have elves staying here!" the councillor erupted, his face flooded with colour. He was obviously not used to being ignored and Kíli was sure he was about to start stamping his foot. "This is Erebor, not an inn!"

"If there is a problem, I am sure my father will gladly provide living quarters at our camp," Legolas offered, turning to Estel.

"Aye! You keep to your kind, we'll keep to ours," came the gruff reply.

"Oh, for Durin's sake, Nordul!" Balin suddenly snapped. "These are the children of Lord Elrond, who came to our company's aid when we needed it most. It is only fair that we return their hospitality." He took a step towards Nordul, his blue eyes full of fire. "And they are here by royal invitation, as guests of the King."

Kíli's stomach twisted painfully as his gaze moved from Balin to Nordul. The subject of Fíli, the reason for Estel's arrival, had not yet been mentioned… But now he knew it was inevitable. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage as he looked to Nordul for his reaction.

Nordul's eyes flashed black and a sickly smile appeared on his lips. "Really?" he said, and his silky tone made Kíli's skin crawl. "Then why do I get the feeling the _King_ doesn't even know they've been sent for?"

Kíli's gaze moved to Estel, his grim expression indicating that Nordul was right. Estel's grey eyes were stony and his shoulders sank. He nodded to Kíli. They had a lot to discuss.

* * *

Fíli's eyes darted to his left when he heard the bedroom door creak open. Kíli slipped into the room and shut the door behind him carefully… very carefully. Fíli pulled himself up onto his elbows, scrutinising his brother as he turned to him. Kíli rarely returned to their room during the day; he rose early in the morning and didn't reappear until late evening. It was a routine that brought Fíli both relief and gnawing pain. He didn't have much to say to Kíli anymore; being slowly suffocated by his grief, he mostly wanted to be alone. But he also missed his brother, and Kíli's long absences sometimes made Fíli feel as if he were grieving for him as well as his uncle.

Kíli was lingering by the door, as if he was afraid to come any closer. He shifted guiltily on the spot, and Fíli recognised his mannerisms from their childhood, when he was forever getting himself into trouble and expecting Fíli to get him out of it.

"Kíli?" Fíli murmured. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and rearranged his pillows against the wooden headboard.

"You have visitors," Kíli said, his voice sounding strained.

_Visitors_? Fíli narrowed his eyes at Kíli. It was too soon for his mother to have arrived from Ered Luin, and Kíli had long given up trying to convince him to speak to other members of the company. Perhaps it was Dáin finally demanding a signature so that his crown could be officially signed, sealed, and delivered.

"Estel arrived this morning," Kíli continued, preemptively flinching.

Fíli's stomach jolted and his heart rose into his mouth… _Estel_? Estel had come to Erebor… Why? His chest suddenly tightened as the truth dawned on him, and he turned to Kíli, his blue eyes wide. Estel was here to force him onto the throne.

"Elladan and Elrohir are here too," Kíli said carefully. "And Lady Arwen."

Each breath got hitched in Fíli's throat and the room began to spin. Elladan and Elrohir too? And Lady Arwen… She had come all this way, and for what? Of course, he had always hoped he would see the children of Rivendell again… but not under these circumstances. And not when he thought they were here with an ulterior motive.

"Who sent for them?" Fíli said, through gritted teeth. "It was Gandalf wasn't it? I knew he wouldn't be able to resist getting involved…"

All the colour had drained from Kíli's face and he stood, frozen on the spot, his brown eyes wide with terror.

"What?" Fíli snapped, unnerving by Kíli's behaviour.

"I… I sent for them," Kíli said, in no more than a whisper. "I sent word to Rivendell."

"You? _You_ did this…" Fíli breathed, and suddenly he felt like he was being strangled.

He thought Kíli understood… He had told him repeatedly that he didn't want the crown, and Kíli hadn't forced the issue since their argument in the tent. Fíli had thought his brother was on his side. He knew all his fears; he had heard him screaming about them at night, and he had soothed him. _"I… I can't do it, Kíli…" "I know… I know…"_ But Kíli had betrayed him.

"I told you!" Fíli cried, angry tears beginning to blur his vision. "I told you I didn't want the throne… But now you've dragged Estel half-way across Middle Earth to come and bully me into it!"

"Fíli, I –" Kíli began, his voice cracking.

"And Lady Arwen!" Fíli shouted over him. "You put her in danger, forcing her to make the journey here… What were you thinking?!"

"I didn't ask her to…" Kíli trailed off, and tears appeared in his eyes.

"Or didn't you think?" Fíli continued, his voice rising. "You never think!"

Kíli recoiled at his brother's words. "You're… You're not well, Fíli…" he stammered. "I didn't know what else to do."

"Get out," Fíli growled, his voice dangerously low.

"Fíli, please…" Kíli whispered, his lips almost white.

But Fíli had nothing more to say to him. "GET OUT!"

Kíli didn't need telling again. He spun around and threw open the door. Storming out, he slammed it behind him so hard that it rattled on its hinges. Hardly able to see through his tears and feeling utterly lost, Kíli whirled around and without thinking, he smacked his fist into the stone wall of the passage-way. The pain took a while to arrive. Kíli kept his fist pressed against the wall and leant his forehead against the cool stone. He peered down at the floor, grinding his teeth with frustration. His eyes were stinging and the tears slowly slipped down his nose.

He had only wanted to help his brother. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing. But now it had all blown up in his face. There had been such iciness in Fíli's eyes as he screamed at him, and Kíli was sure, that for the first time in their lives, his brother actually hated him. All the hope he had felt at Estel's arrival evaporated. He doubted Fíli would even let Estel near him.

A sharp pain began needling his knuckles and there was something warm slipping between his fingers. Kíli straightened up and froze. His hand was bleeding; dark red lines of blood were branching out from his cut knuckles where the stitches had split. Gritting his teeth, Kíli looked up and down the passage-way. He couldn't go to Óin… The last thing he wanted was for the whole Entrance Hall to see the state he had got himself into. But now he knew another healer in Erebor. Clutching his bleeding hand to his chest, Kíli made his way to the guard corridor, thankful that he didn't have to cross the Entrance Hall to get there.

* * *

Kíli knocked on Arwen's door with his uninjured hand. Fortunately, Dáin had managed to diffuse the situation with his councillors and the Rivendell party had been given the two prepared rooms. Dáin hadn't commented on his cousin's guests, but Kíli suspected he would be sent for in the very near future. Now, waiting awkwardly in the passage-way, Kíli hastily wiped away his tears with his sleeve, although he was aware that his bleeding hand destroyed any chance of persuading Arwen that he was all right.

Arwen opened the door and her eyes widened. "Kíli!"

"Can I come in?" Kíli said meekly.

"Of course," Arwen said, unable to keep the horrified expression from her face.

Kíli moved into the room and Arwen shut the door behind him. Estel was sitting in a chair by the fire, but he leapt up as Kíli entered.

"Kíli?" he gasped. "Did… Did Fíli –?"

"No… No!" Kíli replied, mortified by even the suggestion that Fíli had been the cause of his injury… although the reality seemed much worse. "I, er, got angry and…" He trailed off.

Arwen gestured for him to sit on the bed. She brought over a basin of warm water and began to gently bathe his hand. Estel stood at the foot of the bed, watching them both, his expression sombre.

"Fíli did not react well to the news of our arrival?" Estel asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

"No," Kíli said, avoiding Estel's eye. "He… He thinks you're here to force the crown onto his head."

Estel sighed, scratching at the dark brown stubble on his chin. "Well, there is only one person Fíli needs to speak to… and it is not me."

* * *

A knock at the door cut through the silence and Fíli was dragged from his thoughts with a shudder. It seemed like an age had passed since Kíli slammed the door, and Fíli had sat in bed, waiting, his rage slowly turning to despair, willing his brother to come back. But the knock was unexpected: Kíli never knocked.

"Kíli?" Fíli said, staring at the door, his heartbeat growing to a gallop.

The door slowly opened… and Estel stepped into the room, ducking slightly under the door-frame. "May I come in?" he asked quietly.

Fíli tensed and his fingers curled around his bed sheets, but after one long moment he gave a stiff nod. Estel shut the door behind him and came to Fíli's side, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He hadn't changed a bit since Fíli last saw him, which only made Fíli's chest ache when he thought about how much he himself had changed… How his whole world had changed. Estel had promised they would meet again for Thorin's coronation, and Fíli's insides burned at the thought. But still, there was a small part of him - so far repressed by anger - that was glad Estel was here… even though he wouldn't dare admit that, not even to himself.

"Is Kíli all right?" Fíli murmured, his gaze dropping into his lap.

Estel took a while to answer. "He is very upset," he replied, his tone guarded.

Fíli looked up, studying Estel, knowing he was hiding something. Perhaps he had finally managed it; perhaps he had finally pushed his brother away for good.

"But he has already forgiven you," Estel added, seeing the fear in Fíli's eyes.

Fíli relaxed a little, though the news did nothing to alleviate the hot, sickly feelings of guilt stirring in his stomach. He stared at Estel, bristling under his alert, grey gaze, wondering why he was here, but having little strength left to question him. Estel seemed to sense Fíli's hostility, and he shifted on the bed, folding his hands in his lap.

"I am not here to force you into anything, Fíli," he said softly. "I am here only to listen."

Fíli raised an eyebrow; he hadn't bargained on Estel expecting him to do the talking. And he didn't even know where to begin… Or if he really wanted to relive the nightmare he had been wading through since the battle before the Front Gate. He was quiet for a long time, trying to untangle the thoughts in his head. But they were too tightly knotted and the words wouldn't come. He looked up at Estel, his eyes admitting defeat.

Estel suddenly rose from the bed, and for a panicked split-second, Fíli thought he was going to leave him. But Estel only moved to the corner of the room and collected the wooden crutches Bofur had made that were leaning against the wall. They had been there ever since Kíli had first brought them to him. Estel sat back down on the bed, laying the crutches at Fíli's feet.

"If you cannot speak to me, Fíli," he said carefully. "I would like you to speak to Thorin."

Fíli's heart jolted. Thorin. He knew his uncle's body was still laid out in Thrór's bedchamber, and Kíli was pulling every trick in the book to stall the funeral until he was well enough to attend. But he wasn't sure he would ever be well enough. And now the thought of seeing Thorin again made every part of him ache… Of course, he would give anything just to be able to talk with his uncle again, but the body lying in the bedchamber wasn't Thorin anymore, not really. He looked down at the crutches at his feet.

"You said you wouldn't force me into anything," he said, his eyes moving back to Estel.

"I am not forcing you," Estel replied patiently. "And if you can look me in the eye and tell me you do not want to speak to your uncle, I will leave you be."

Fíli stared at Estel… but he couldn't do it. Now the idea had been planted in his head, he couldn't deny the need that had arisen in him; the need to be near Thorin. Even if part of him knew his uncle wasn't really there, it was the closest he would ever get to speaking with him again.

"Thrór's chambers are only a few doors down from this room," Estel said gently, when Fíli stayed silent.

Fíli looked to the crutches again, panic swelling in his chest. Although his leg no longer pained him like it used to, and his back had stopped protesting at his every movement, Fíli had never set a foot out of bed since moving into Erebor. "I'm not strong enough," he said, shaking his head.

"You are stronger than you think," Estel said, looking at Fíli with a knowing glint in his grey eyes.

"You sound like Gandalf," Fíli said slyly.

Estel smiled, but didn't comment. Fíli waggled his toes beneath his blankets, as if to check they were still there. He closed his eyes, still trying to untangle the web of conflicted feelings rising with him… He wanted to speak to Thorin, but he was afraid of how he might react to seeing him again. The nightmares, filled with horrifying flashes of his uncle's bloodied body, were vivid enough; he didn't need to see the real thing.

"I… I can't," Fíli said finally.

"Can't or won't?" Estel asked, furrowing his brow.

It reminded Fíli of the way his mother used to scold him. "I'm not a child!" he said irritably.

"No," Estel agreed. "Not anymore."

Fíli sat back against his pillows, aware that they had reached an impasse. Estel was silent for a long time, but then he reached out a hand to one of the crutches and absent-mindedly ran a finger up and down the wood.

"When I was fourteen, I broke my leg whilst out riding with Elladan and Elrohir," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the crutches. "We were racing each other back to Rivendell… I was in the lead, but there was a low hanging branch, and I forgot to duck."

He looked up at Fíli with a grin, and Fíli couldn't stop the small smile from tugging at his lips.

"I was knocked backwards off my horse and fell down into the creek," Estel continued. "I was unconscious for three days, and then I spent three miserable weeks in bed. As soon as it was clear I would survive, Elladan and Elrohir took great pains to torment me."

"What did they do?" Fíli asked, leaning forward slightly, unable to deny his curiosity.

Estel smirked. "They went back and cut down the branch that knocked me from my horse, and presented it to me in my room, claiming they had avenged my injury."

For the first time since the battle, Fíli laughed. He had been so sure that he would never laugh again, and it was a hollow, strange sound, but still he laughed, and Estel chuckled too.

"I hated being stuck in the sickroom." Estel's eyes were on the crutches again. "But then Lord Elrond had a pair of crutches made for me – just like these ones – and I was up and about in no time. I think I caused more mischief on those crutches than I ever did on two legs."

Fíli's eyes moved to the crutches. "Is it hard? To walk on them?"

"Not at all, once you get used to it," Estel replied. "Would you like to try?"

Fíli knew they were both avoiding mention of Thorin, even though Thrór's chamber was obviously their intended destination. For the moment it was easier to focus on the crutches, and not think about anything beyond them. Fíli nodded and slowly pulled away his bed sheets.

Estel had spotted Fíli's boots on the floor by his bed and he went to pick up the left boot. "If you could swing your good leg onto the floor," he said, with a nod. "I know Bilbo goes around Erebor barefoot, but I am not sure it will be the best idea with the amount of pressure you are going to be putting on your good foot."

Fíli did as Estel asked, and Estel came to crouch in front of him, carefully slipping on his boot.

"I am just going to move your right leg into the same position." Estel slowly slid Fíli's bandaged and splinted leg over the side of the bed, so that it dangled next to his left. Fíli winced slightly, but didn't say anything.

Estel collected the crutches and held them out to Fíli. "Grip the handles firmly and place the rests under your arms."

Fíli did as Estel instructed, and Estel helped him shift his position until he was comfortable.

"Now, straighten up, putting all your weight on your left foot," Estel said, and he placed his hands on Fíli's shoulders. "I will steady you until you find your balance."

Fíli looked down at the floor and swallowed. This wasn't going to be easy, but he was determined to try. Images of Thorin flashed before his eyes, but he forced himself to focus on the crutches. He slowly slipped from the bed, pushing all his weight onto his good foot, and bent his left knee to keep the foot hovering off the floor. He wobbled slightly, but Estel kept a firm hold of him. It was a strange experience, being upright again, and his head felt a little foggy, but the nausea soon passed.

"You need to keep looking straight ahead," Estel cautioned. "If you look at the floor, you will fall… Now, keep all your weight on your left foot, and move the crutches forward a few inches."

Estel relinquished his grip on Fíli's shoulders and stepped to the side. At first Fíli was unnerved at finding himself standing on the crutches unaided, but then he did as Estel asked and moved the crutches forward with a jerk. His balance faltered, but he managed to steady himself.

"And hop forward," Estel urged, hovering at Fíli's side.

Fíli felt slightly ridiculous hopping, and he was sure the young Estel had mastered the crutches with far more grace, but still he hopped forward awkwardly on his left foot and this time he kept his balance.

"Good!" Estel said, with a wide smile. "And again."

With Estel's coaching and gentle encouragements, Fíli slowly became acclimatised to the crutches. His movements were far from smooth, and more than once he almost fell, but Estel was always there to steady him. Fíli remembered his afternoon of training with Estel in Rivendell, and it appeared Estel knew just as much about crutches as he did about swords.

An age seemed to have passed, but finally Fíli found himself in the darkened passage-way, outside the door to Thrór's bedchamber. He gripped the crutches fiercely, his fingernails digging into his palms, and he could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. His arms ached and his breathing had become ragged. The wounds on his back had flared up again with the jarring movements and he had a stitch in his side, where an arrow had once been embedded. But he knew a greater challenge lay on the other side of the door. He still wasn't sure he was ready to see Thorin, but maybe he would never be ready.

"Just a few more steps to go," Estel murmured, standing at Fíli's side.

Fíli looked up at him, his blue eyes clouded with uncertainty, but he had come this far. He nodded, then looked straight ahead. Estel opened the door and Fíli slowly moved into the room, his crutches echoing on the stone floor. He was immediately assaulted by a strange, overpowering perfume that walked the line between fragrant and foul… and Fíli realised it was there to mask the stench of death.

Thorin was lying on the large four-poster bed at the centre of the room, dressed in his finest clothes, covered with thick fur blankets pulled up to his chest, as if he were really asleep. Fíli guessed that was Kíli's doing. His step faltered, and he wasn't sure he could go any further. All the blood had been washed from Thorin's face and now it was a chalky white, as if he were made from wax. But, on closer inspection, he still wore a slight frown on his brow that made the figure before Fíli unmistakably Thorin.

Estel put a hand on Fíli's shoulder and silently gestured to the large wooden chair placed at Thorin's bedside. Fíli moved over to the chair, carefully twisting himself so that his back was facing it, and Estel helped him lower himself into it. He took the crutches and leant them against the chair's arm.

"I will be just outside if you need me," Estel said gently, and then, registering Fíli's look of obvious anxiety, added: "Speak to him, Fíli. Tell him everything you could not tell me."

Fíli glanced at Thorin. "He can't hear me."

Estel fixed Fíli with a hard stare, and he knew he was being silently reprimanded. Fíli opened his mouth to protest, but decided better of it. He sighed and turned towards Thorin. Without another word, Estel left the room, and Fíli heard a soft clunk as the door shut behind him.

Fíli wasn't sure how long he sat there in silence. It took a while for him to get his breath back after the exertion of the crutches, and he spent a long time examining the palms of his hands, where his fingernails had made red crescent moons in the skin. He then began inspecting the room, looking everywhere but at Thorin. But, eventually, his gaze came to rest on his uncle. He thought about reaching out and taking his hand, but he was scared of the cold touch that would confirm once and for all that this was no longer Thorin. Images of Thorin lying, bloodied and beaten, in the ditch in the far corner of the battle field flickered at the forefront of Fíli's mind… He could still see his uncle's wide eyes screaming up at him, begging him to run away. Screwing up his eyes, Fíli saw stars, and tried to shake the thoughts from his head.

When he opened his eyes again, blue spots speckled the edge of his vision, but Thorin was still lying there on the bed in front of him. The silence was becoming suffocating… and so, finally, Fíli gave in. Inhaling deeply, he leaned forward in his chair.

"Thorin?" he whispered. He waited a few seconds, his breaths getting caught in his throat, as if he was waiting for his uncle to answer. "I… I shouted at Kíli… again." The words sat uneasily in his mouth, but he forced himself to continue. "I was just so angry… I didn't mean to hurt him… But I did…"

Fíli glanced at the door, and then took another deep breath. "I'm not being a very good brother at the moment… Can… Can you keep an eye on Kíli for me? Please… Please just look out for him… Because I can't."

Tears began to prickle the corners of his eyes, and Fíli felt as if something was slowly thawing within him. Everything that he had kept locked away within himself was stirring to the surface, and soon the words came flooding out.

"I'm scared, Thorin… I'm so scared… and I don't know who I am anymore… I'm not ready to be King… I… I thought I was… But then you… you…"

Fíli's fingers slowly crept across the soft, grey fur blanket and touched Thorin's hand. It was ice-cold and he instinctively flinched away… but then he regained himself and took Thorin's hand in both his own, pulling it towards him. He felt Thorin's blacksmith's palm, hard and calloused beneath his fingertips.

"I… I miss you…" Fíli murmured, tears beginning to cloud his vision. "And… And I know you wanted to bring us home… But it isn't home if you're not here…"

And then Fíli began to sob. He leant forward and buried his face in the thick fur blankets, still keeping a firm hold of Thorin's hand. All the barricades he had built to try and protect himself against the grief, and the pain, and fear crumbled into dust. Everything he had been repressing since the battle, everything that had hardened his heart and driven Kíli and everyone else away, came tumbling forward in his tears. It was the release Fíli had been desperately seeking for so long, and now he embraced it, and just cried, and cried, and cried.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, another long chapter, but it feels so good to be writing again. I promise updates will be far more regular from now on, but please do let me know what you thought of this chapter in the meantime!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey guys! Well, I have just been absolutely blown away by the response to Chapter Eight – it's provided the best end to my finals period that I could've hoped for! So an enormous thank you to everyone for reading and for your wonderful reviews, and for the favourites and follows – you have no idea how much you've made me smile! Now, here's Chapter Nine, which will hopefully prove a little less emotionally traumatic for you all…**

* * *

Kíli kept his brown eyes fixed on Fíli, watching his brother's chest slowly rise and fall beneath his blankets as he slept. Waiting in Lady Arwen's room for word from Estel had been a new form of torture. More than once he had leapt from the bed and made towards the door, but Arwen had stopped him and gently talked him round. As the minutes dragged on, Kíli had realised it was probably a good sign that Estel hadn't returned; it meant Fíli had at least agreed to speak to him. Estel's plan was a good one, but it was hardly fool proof, and had depended upon Fíli co-operating. It had been obvious that Fíli was going to take a lot of coaxing as he was outdoing Thorin for stubbornness these days… Kíli instinctively flinched at the thought, picturing his uncle lying in the four-poster bed in Thrór's bedchamber. Before Estel went in to Fíli, Kíli had gone to his great-grandfather's chamber and pulled a chair up to Thorin's bedside. He had also covered his uncle in a thick, grey fur blanket, hoping it would help Fíli speak to him if he could pretend, if only for a second, that Thorin was really asleep.

The waiting had made Kíli restless. Elladan and Elrohir had come to keep him company, asking him about the progress he had made with his archery. But this only conjured grim flash-backs to the battle before the Front Gate and Arwen had shooed her brothers away when it was clear they weren't helping. Finally, when Kíli was ready to start tearing at his hair, Estel had returned, bringing news that Fíli had agreed to see Thorin and was already quite adept at walking on crutches. Kíli couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, but still it had made his heart soar. Estel remained a little guarded about what he and Fíli had actually discussed, and about what had transpired once Fíli was left alone with Thorin, but Kíli hadn't pressed the matter. He had only asked one thing:

"_Is he still angry with me?"_

"_No. I am sure he is far angrier with himself."_

Fíli had returned to his own room, and with his strength flagging, he had needed a little more help from Estel than he had done in the outward journey. Estel had settled him back into bed and he had quickly fallen asleep, clearly physically and emotionally exhausted from the excursion. Kíli watched his brother now and was reminded of the incident back in Fíli's tent, when Fíli had first managed to sit up in bed and the effort had cost him dearly. Fíli's face was pale, almost an ashy grey, and his eyelids looked sore and red. Kíli knew he must have been crying. His stomach twisted in a sickly motion as he endured another stint of waiting, and he dreaded to think how Fíli would react when he woke up. He really hoped speaking to Thorin had been a help, and hadn't set him even further back, but Estel assured him this was a positive first step on Fíli's road to recovery. Kíli was reminded of the quite literal first steps his brother had taken by the wooden crutches, which had previously been leaning against the opposite wall, that were now resting against Fíli's bedside table, well within easy reach. Kíli couldn't wait to tell Bofur.

Suddenly, Fíli stirred. Kíli was sure he stopped breathing entirely as his brother's eyes fluttered open. They peered up, blearily, at the ceiling for a few moments then slowly came to rest on him.

"Kíli?"

Kíli froze. Fíli's blue eyes were yet to harden as they stared at him. For the first time in weeks, Kíli felt that his brother, and not a stranger, was looking back at him. He reached out a hand to Fíli's shoulder, and was about to tell him to take his time in coming round, when all of a sudden Fíli lurched bolt upright and threw his arms around Kíli, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

Stunned by the gesture, it took Kíli a few moments to register what was happening, but then he wrapped his arms around Fíli and buried his head in his brother's shoulder, pushing his nose into his blonde hair. Fíli was holding him so tightly, as if he were scared that if he didn't, Kíli would disappear and be lost to him. And then Fíli's shoulders began to shake and Kíli could feel him trembling in his arms. His soft sobs were muffled by Kíli's shoulder.

"Oh, Fíli… It's all right…" Kíli whispered, holding his brother closer. He knew he had broken his cardinal rule about telling Fíli it was all right when it wasn't. But he suspected this wasn't entirely about Thorin.

As if to confirm Kíli's thoughts, Fíli slowly moved his head so that he could speak without his voice being drowned out by Kíli's coat. "I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…"

Kíli had never heard his brother's voice sound so small. "Fíli…" he said gently. He sensed his brother had cried enough that afternoon, and didn't want him shedding any unnecessary tears.

"I'm a… terrible brother…" Fíli gasped out between sobs, his fingers bunching around the fabric of Kíli's coat as he clung to him.

"Of course you aren't," Kíli soothed, resting his chin on Fíli's shoulder. "You had every right to be angry… I should've told you I had sent for Estel."

Kíli thought back to their first argument in Fíli's tent. _"I… I think I'm going mad, Kíli…",_ _"No, you're not… And you won't… I won't let you, I promise…__"_

"I just wanted to keep my promise," Kíli murmured, screwing up his eyes against his own tears.

Fíli slowly began to quieten, and finally he pulled away, brushing the stray strands of blonde hair from his face as they had been matted to his cheeks as he cried. He studied Kíli, his blue eyes cloudy. "Do you forgive me?" he asked, his voice strained.

"You shouldn't even have to ask," Kíli replied warmly, putting a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "Of course I do."

Fíli's eyes travelled down to Kíli's hand, which was newly bandaged. "Kíli," he breathed. "Your hand…"

Kíli winced. He knew Fíli would notice and had tried to persuade Arwen that it didn't need to be bandaged, but Elrond's daughter was having none of it. "If I tell you I tripped will you believe me?" he said weakly.

Fíli stared at Kíli as the truth dawned on him and his face seemed to grow even paler. "Kíli…" His voice was heavy with remorse.

"I'm fine," Kíli said softly. He didn't want Fíli to have to suffer any more guilt… And he was also terrified of the stony look returning to his brother's eyes. "It just seems both of us have inherited the Durin temper," he said, managing a smile. "And my fingers were healing too quickly for my liking."

Much to Kíli's surprise, a small smile actually appeared on Fíli's lips, and he felt his heart soar again. Part of him was desperate to ask Fíli about what Estel had said to bring about this change, and about his visit to Thorin, but he knew not to push the subject just yet.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked gently, as Fíli settled back into his pillows.

Fíli suddenly froze, his blue eyes wide. His gaze dropped to his stomach then sprang back to Kíli, and he studied his brother with a look of shock.

"Fíli?" Kíli gasped, his voice tense. "What is it?"

"I… I think I'm hungry," Fíli whispered, his voice full of wonder.

Kíli couldn't stop the huge grin that broke out on his face. He knew Fíli hadn't been eating since the battle; he never asked for food, and ate only because Óin forced the small, daily meals into him. But now Fíli was staring at him with such a look of surprise, as if he'd forgotten what it felt like to be hungry.

"I'll get Bofur to prepare something for you right away," Kíli beamed, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry with joy.

* * *

The fire in Elladan and Elrohir's room on the guard corridor crackled merrily to itself in the grate. As it was the larger of the two rooms occupied by the Rivendell party, the twins' room that they shared with Estel had been chosen for the impromptu meeting to discuss Fíli's progress. Elladan and Elrohir stood, leaning against the fireplace, every so often exchanging glances, and Kíli was sure the pair had some form of telepathy working between them. Estel and Arwen were sitting side by side on one of the beds, and Kíli had taken the chair pulled up to the fire at Elrohir's side. And Dwalin was standing by the door.

Kíli hadn't explicitly asked Dwalin to the meeting, but ever since they had moved into Erebor, Kíli had sensed the older dwarf shadowing his movements from time to time. He often came to check on him whilst he was working with the digging parties, and on the first morning in the Mountain, Kíli had come out of his room to find Dwalin asleep by the door, slumped against the wall of the passage-way. Kíli suspected this had something to do with a promise Dwalin had once made to Thorin.

The company had been thrilled to hear that Fíli was out of bed, though none of them asked about the specifics of his excursion. Bofur had almost tripped over his own feet and gone hat-first onto the ground in his excitement to prepare Fíli's requested meal. He had asked Kíli if he could deliver it to Fíli personally, but Kíli hadn't wanted to push his brother too far. He knew the situation was delicate, and one foot wrong could catapult Fíli back into blackness. They needed to be careful. Kíli had left the company's fire and headed towards the old guard corridor, only to find Dwalin falling into step at his side. He hadn't commented as he sensed Dwalin was joining him because he cared about Fíli's welfare as much as he did. His promise to Thorin dictated it.

Kíli glanced across at Dwalin now, standing like a sentry on duty by the door. His axes, Grasper and Keeper, were strapped to his back. Kíli wasn't quite sure why Dwalin felt the need to be armed, but, then again, he also kept casting dirty looks over at Elladan and Elrohir, so Kíli decided not to mention it. Dwalin hadn't been as quick as the others to trust the elves during their time in Rivendell, and he was clearly still trying to make up his mind. Kíli's gaze moved back to Estel, aware that everyone was now waiting for him to begin the discussion.

"Now that Fíli has allowed me to speak to him," Estel began, turning away from Arwen to address the whole room. "We need to try and convince him to speak to others. But it is important that we do not try to tackle the subject of the succession just yet."

Estel's grey eyes moved to Kíli. "We must get Fíli feeling more like his old self again before anyone even mentions the crown. He needs to work through his grief first and remember who he was before any of this happened. Only then will he be ready to consider his status as Thorin's heir."

There was a murmur of agreement from everyone, and then they fell silent, waiting for Estel to continue. "Of course, Fíli needs to be given space to grieve, but he cannot continue this solitary life he has been living. He has walled himself up in his mind and needs others to coax him out."

Estel looked from Kíli to Dwalin. "We will start small. Can you think which member of your company Fíli would find least threatening?"

Kíli and Dwalin exchanged glances. "Ori," they said in unison.

Estel smiled and turned to Kíli. "See if you can persuade Fíli to speak to Ori. I am sure even five minutes of conversation will be a great help to Fíli, to give him some sense of normality again."

Kíli nodded. "And you will speak to him again, won't you?" he asked quietly. He had witnessed for himself the change that one discussion with Estel could work on Fíli, and he was anxious to see Fíli improve further.

"Of course," Estel replied knowingly. "But only when Fíli asks for me. He is well aware of why I am here and I do not want him to feel pressured into anything."

Kíli knew Estel was right, but still his shoulders slumped slightly. He was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. Everyone froze and exchanged concerned glances. They weren't expecting anyone else. Dwalin moved to the door, flexing his fingers, and slowly opened it, his huge, imposing form filling the doorway.

"Oh, for Durin's sake, Dwalin!" Balin's voice sounded from the corridor. "Who were you expecting? A Balrog of Morgoth?"

Dwalin reluctantly moved away from the door with a scowl. "No, something worse," he replied gruffly. "One of Dáin's councillors."

Balin flinched ever so slightly at Dwalin's words, and Kíli felt his stomach sink. What had Dáin's council done now? Balin moved into the room, clearly unsurprised by Dwalin's presence there. He turned to Lady Arwen and gave a short bow.

"My lady," he said kindly, his troubled eyes moving to Estel, and then to Kíli. "I've just come from a council meeting with Dáin… Suffice to say, news of Fíli's little, er, excursion this afternoon has reached the councillors and they aren't happy about it."

"I bet they aren't," Dwalin growled, taking up his position by the door once again.

"What's happened, Balin?" Kíli asked, feeling his throat tighten with every word.

Balin sighed, his gaze moving around the room again before it came to rest on Kíli. "Dáin won't wait any longer. He wants Thorin's funeral arranged for the end of the week."

Kíli tightened his grip on the wooden arms of his chair. He knew what Dáin was up to. "Can't you stall him?" he murmured, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Laddie, you and I both know we've been stalling Dáin for weeks," Balin answered, his eyes lit with a sad twinkle. "He is done waiting."

"Because now he's worried that if he waits, Fíli might be well enough to be there," Kíli said, looking to Estel, who had been studying him curiously for answers.

Estel's grey eyes darkened as he realised Kíli's meaning. "He knows if Fíli does not attend the funeral, it will confirm all suspicions that he is not fit to be King. He wishes to deny Fíli this first public appearance and chance of closure."

"Exactly," Kíli said grimly. He turned to Balin. "I thought Dáin was better than this… Fíli and I are his kin…"

"I know, lad," Balin sighed. "But I don't believe this is wholly Dáin's decision. He has been swayed by his councillors, and unfortunately they have far greater influence over him than we ever will."

A glum silence descended over the room, but then Estel spoke up: "And so there is only one way forward." His voice was full of determination. "Thorin's funeral will be one of the greatest challenges of Fíli's life, and we have three days to ensure he is ready for it."

* * *

"… And you must under no circumstances mention Thorin… Unless he mentions him first… If he does, you make sure you be tactful about it…"

Kíli watched with a small smile as Dori dusted down Ori's knitted cardigan and then went to clean his face again with a wet cloth. Ori shrunk away and looked to Kíli, his wide eyes begging for help.

"Dori, he'll be fine," Kíli said, putting a hand on Dori's shoulder to try and stop him fussing. "It's just Fíli, no one else."

Dori lowered the cloth from Ori's face and nodded reluctantly. Ori still looked mildly mortified at having been summoned, and Kíli knew Fíli was just as nervous. It had taken him some time to agree to the visit, but in the end he had asked to see both Ori and Bofur, wanting to thank them for their gifts of the blanket and wooden crutches. Kíli and Estel had agreed to wait and see how Fíli coped with these first visitors before they broke the news to him about Thorin's funeral.

Kíli gave Ori a warm smile of encouragement. "He wants to see you, Ori. Just talk to him about what you've been up to… Pretend you're both still on the journey over here and you've just sat down by the fire after a long day's trek."

"What I've been up to…" Ori repeated quietly, and then a light seemed to go on in his eyes and he suddenly disappeared into his tent.

"All set, Kíli." Bofur appeared at Kíli's side, his face and hands newly washed and scrubbed.

After a pause he reached up and adjusted his hat again, and Kíli was shocked when he realised just how anxious Bofur actually was. His stomach squirmed again; this meeting could turn out to be a disaster. But he had faith in all that Estel had said, and he knew it would do Fíli good to speak to the company again.

Ori reappeared from his tent, clutching the brown, leather-bound sketchbook that he had carried with him throughout their journey to Erebor. He smiled meekly at Kíli, who returned another encouraging smile. With the two visitors now ready, Kíli ushered them away from the company's fire, and towards Fíli's room.

* * *

Fíli continued to wring his hands as he glanced, nervously, towards the door, waiting for Ori and Bofur to arrive. He felt sick to his stomach and he was sure he was actually sweating. Kíli had tentatively asked him if there was anyone else he might like to speak to, and at first he had refused to see anyone. Although his mind felt a little clearer, he was still plagued by visions of Thorin lying in the four-poster bed in Thrór's bedchamber. But Fíli was aware that these flashes of Thorin in his mind's eye were mostly just symptomatic of his desire to speak to his uncle again. Estel had been right in thinking the only person he really wanted to speak to was Thorin. He had told Kíli so, but still his brother had managed to gently talk him round.

Fíli couldn't deny that he had, in part, given in to Kíli because he didn't want to upset him any further. His thoughts kept wandering back to Kíli's freshly bandaged hand and his chest ached when he heard his own voice bellowing inside his head: _"GET OUT!"_ He was determined to make it up to Kíli and never lose his temper like that again. So he had agreed to speak to other members of the company. He knew he should really be speaking to Balin and Dwalin; those who had been most affected by Thorin's death. But he sensed Balin was too involved in the politics of the succession, and he couldn't bear to see the crown reflected in Balin's eyes. And Fíli knew Dwalin's grief rivalled his own. The older dwarf had been so close to Thorin, and Fíli wasn't sure he was ready to face him just yet. Not when part of him still felt responsible for the cause of Dwalin's pain. So he had asked to see Ori and Bofur, members of the company at a remove from Thorin's death, so that he could thank Ori for the blanket and Bofur for the crutches.

Ori's blanket was laid out on his bed now, and his fingers curled around it when he heard the door creak. Kíli entered the room, and Ori and Bofur slowly shuffled in behind him. At first they fought to avoid Fíli's eye and began fidgeting with their clothes, and Fíli realised they were as nervous as he was. His heart began a frantic thump against his chest as they moved closer, and Ori had to be practically dragged to his bedside by Kíli. Fíli had been through everything with Ori and Bofur and now he was scared of the unnerving atmosphere in the room that made them feel like strangers. An awkward silence settled over them.

"You're looking well, lad," Bofur offered, when no one spoke. He managed his familiar, wide smile, and it made Fíli feel a little better.

"Thank you for the crutches," Fíli murmured, his gaze moving to the wooden crutches leaning against his bedside table. "They're… They're the perfect height."

"I'm glad to hear it," Bofur replied, his smile unwavering. "I'm just happy I could help you get back on your feet."

Fíli nodded, and then turned to Ori, who was staring at him with the look of a startled squirrel. He clutched his sketchbook to his chest; he never seemed to go anywhere without it, and at that moment it seemed to be serving its purpose as a comfort blanket. Fíli looked down at his own brown and gold blanket.

"And thank you for the blanket, Ori," he said, wondering how he could make Ori feel more at ease when he could feel his own fingers shaking.

Ori flinched when he heard his name, and didn't seem quite capable of a verbal response. He only gave a few quick nods and bit his lip. Fíli cast a side-ways glance at Kíli, who seemed equally aware that the visit might be over before it had even started. But then Ori suddenly took a bold step forward.

"I… I brought my s-sketchbook to show you," he stammered, thrusting the leather-bound book towards Fíli.

Although startled, Fíli accepted the sketchbook and opened it up in his lap.

"Kíli said to tell you what I'd been up to…" Ori explained, his voice quivering slightly. "And… And Estel told me you might be having trouble remembering who you are… So I thought this might help."

Fíli's eyes darted up from the book, and he felt Kíli tense at his side. Ori had obviously revealed more than was intended about what had been discussed before the visit. Fíli's stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out and his heart was throwing itself against his ribcage… His mind returned to Thorin's bedside and he heard himself whimper: _"I'm scared, Thorin… I'm so scared… and I don't know who I am anymore…__"_ The sketchbook's pages began to tremble beneath his fingers.

Kíli seemed on the verge of bringing the visit to an end, but Ori continued, seemingly unfazed. "See… This is the start of our journey at Bag End… And these are your weapons…"

Ori turned the sketchbook's thick, yellow pages back to the beginning and Fíli found himself looking at a beautiful ink drawing of Bilbo's round front door. It was intricately detailed and Fíli could make out each individual flower in the window boxes beside the door. Ori had even included the rune Gandalf had carved into the wood. Ori's finger moved to the opposing page and pointed to another set of intricate sketches, showing Fíli's twin falchions and his throwing knives. Fíli could suddenly picture himself back at Bag End, handing over his weapons to the startled hobbit who had greeted him and Kíli at the door. _"Careful with these… I've just had them sharpened."_

An unconscious smile flickered onto Fíli's lips. Spurred on by this, Ori began to turn the pages again. A wealth of black ink drawings and Cirth inscriptions passed by in a blur until Ori found his next intended page. Fíli's heart skipped a beat. He recognised the scene rendered in ink before him.

"This is our battle with the wargs out on the plains," Ori explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's what I saw from the tunnel."

The drawing was framed by the mouth of the tunnel the company had been hiding in when Kíli was shot down by an orc arrow and Thorin had been injured trying to protect him. Fíli could make out the shadowy form of his fallen brother sketched into the grass with a warg fast approaching him. And at the centre of the drawing, Fíli recognised himself, climbing out of the tunnel, one falchion raised as he charged back out onto the plains. Fíli's eyes moved down to the caption Ori had added beneath the sketch and his eyes widened. It read: '_Fíli leads the company into battle._'

* * *

"Thorin!"

Arwen froze as she shut the door to her room behind her. Straightening up, she peered up and down the corridor, feeling her pulse quicken. She was sure it had been Fíli's voice she had heard, but she knew it couldn't have possibly reached her from his room, which was located several corridors away from her own. And the voice had sounded soft, almost scolding. It wasn't the sound of someone having a nightmare.

Suddenly, something brushed the bottom of her dress and her heart jolted. An impossibly small child rushed passed her, his blonde hair bouncing as he ran down the corridor. His hair was wild and unruly, apart from the strands that were pulled into a braid at the back of his head, fastened with a silver pin that looked somehow familiar. Arwen watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the child approached a figure that had materialised, standing in profile, at the other end of the corridor. It was Fíli. Only not as Arwen knew him.

He was dressed in rich clothes of deep red and gold, and his coat was lined with thick brown fur. His beard had grown considerably, down to his chest, though his still kept his moustache tied in braids. And upon his head was the crown Arwen had seen depicted in the sketch of Thrór in the book she had given Fíli when they met in Rivendell. Fíli turned towards the child approaching him and Arwen's heart skipped a beat when she realised he was holding another child, even smaller than the one coming to his side. The child's dark brown hair was braided with blue ribbons and her features were freckled and petite… Fíli's daughter.

"Thorin, hurry!" Fíli chided, holding out his hand to the child with a sigh.

The blonde-haired boy reached his father and took his hand, turning back to look at Arwen. His eyes were a bright blue, identical to the pair that were now also staring down the corridor at her. Fíli fixed Arwen with his blue gaze, and a small smile appeared on his lips. Arwen opened her mouth to say something, but then a hand suddenly fell down on her shoulder. She spun around to find Estel studying her with a curious expression.

"Arwen?" he murmured, his grey eyes almost fearful.

Arwen blinked and felt the salt water sting her eyes. She hadn't even realised she was crying. She glanced back over her shoulder, and Estel followed her gaze down the corridor.

He was quiet for a long time, until, finally, he whispered: "You saw something?"

"Fíli," Arwen replied, her voice choked. "I have to speak to Fíli."

* * *

**A/N: The fight with the wargs out on the plains depicted in Ori's sketchbook can be found in Chapter One of 'Family Tree', if anyone is interested, and as always, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys! I tried to upload this chapter last night, but the site was having some technical trouble, which I'm sure was traumatic for all of us. Anyway, here is Chapter Ten, and the only thing to add is an enormous thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, favouriting, and following - you're all amazing and have given me the best ever start to my summer!**

* * *

"The… The end of the week?" Fíli stammered, feeling all the colour drain from his face.

Three days. Three days until Thorin's funeral. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and his stomach knotted and unknotted itself, making a sickly feeling rise into his throat. He leaned forward in the bed, one hand to his forehead, as images of Thorin lying silently in Thrór's bedchamber flashed like lightning, sharp and terrible, in the dark of his mind. But then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No one is going to force you to go," Kíli said quietly.

Fíli straightened up and turned to his brother, sitting patiently by his side. "I know… But… But I have to be there… For you. I won't let you go through this on your own."

This seemed to catch Kíli off guard, and an emotion Fíli couldn't place flickered in Kíli's brown eyes.

"I'll… I'll be fine," Kíli said, though the waver in his voice betrayed him. "I won't be on my own," he added, more firmly. "The company and Estel will be there. Please, Fíli… Don't worry about me."

But Fíli did worry. As his mind slowly clawed its way out of the abyss it had fallen into since the battle, he found himself looking back over the weeks in the Mountain when he had barely spoken to his brother. He had left Kíli to wander the dark passages of Erebor alone. Consumed as he was by his own grief, Fíli knew he had let his despair take over and blinker him to his brother's suffering. What was worse was that Kíli didn't seem to hate him for it, and this only intensified Fíli's feelings of guilt. It would take him a life-time to atone for neglecting Kíli this way, and he was going to start now.

"I want to be there," Fíli murmured. "But I… I don't know if I…" He trailed off, his gaze moving to the crutches leaning against his bedside table.

He had spoken to Ori and Bofur, and after the initial anxiety and awkwardness, he had been grateful for the visit. But speaking with two members of the company was nothing compared to what awaited him if he decided to attend Thorin's funeral. He would have to face hundreds of people, including Dáin, and they would see that he was injured, that he was hurting. He thought back to his arrival in Erebor on the stretcher, and the shout: _"Long live the King!"_ His mind recoiled from the subject and his stomach knotted itself again.

"You don't have to decide now," Kíli said softly, returning his hand to Fíli's shoulder. "But whatever you decide, I'm with you."

Kíli managed a small smile, though there was sadness lurking behind it. Fíli knew then that Kíli wanted him to be there at Thorin's funeral, _needed_ him to be there, but he would never say it. Fíli opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a sharp knock at the door that made them both jump.

Kíli turned to look behind him questioningly, and then rose from his chair and cautiously approached the door. He opened it only a fraction and Fíli could hear the low, urgent buzz of voices… He thought he recognised Estel's voice, but there was another, softer voice he couldn't place. Kíli slipped out into the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, and his voice was added to the hum.

After a few moments, Kíli stepped back into the room. "Fíli, Lady Arwen is here to see you… But if you need to rest, she can visit later."

Fíli's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected a visit from Elrond's daughter, and he wondered why she had chosen to come to him now. He needed time to process the news of Thorin's impending funeral – news that was already taking its toll, resting heavily on him, and making his whole body ache. But Thorin had raised him to never turn away a lady, and to never keep a lady waiting.

"Please, show her in," Fíli said quietly. "Don't leave her standing out in the corridor."

Kíli nodded, and was practically beaming as he opened the door for Arwen. Although he had stayed with Fíli for Ori and Bofur's visit, Kíli quickly disappeared out into the corridor as Arwen moved into the room, and carefully shut the door behind him. Like Estel, Arwen looked exactly as she had done when the company arrived in Rivendell, and for a second it was as if nothing at all had passed in the months since he had last seen her. She approached Fíli's bed with a small smile on her lips, her blue eyes shining. The only sound was her long, dark purple dress's whispering sweep across the dusty stone floor.

"My lady, please, have a seat," Fíli said, gesturing to the chair by his bed, previously occupied by Kíli. "I… I'm sorry I don't look more presentable." He had to stop his hand twitching up to one of the braids of his moustache, which he knew needed retying. He sensed the awkwardness of Ori and Bofur's meeting returning, only this time he didn't have the security of Kíli standing at his side.

"Please, there is no need to apologise," Arwen said warmly, lowering herself into the chair next to Fíli. "I am sorry if I have disturbed you."

"Not at all," Fíli replied, though he could feel his anxiety growing. His thoughts returned to the unknown reason for Arwen's visit, but he knew it would be rude to ask outright. "Thank you… for coming all this way," he continued, trying to keep his voice even. "I know you've all been a real comfort to Kíli."

Arwen smiled, but the look in her eyes told Fíli what he already knew: she was no fool. They both knew the Rivendell party were here for him, not for Kíli, and there would be no dancing around that fact.

"Nothing was going to stop me coming here," Arwen said, in barely more than a whisper. "I am so sorry, Fíli."

There was such sincerity and such pain in Arwen's voice as she spoke that it tapped into Fíli's own grief and suffering. She drew all the emotions he was desperately trying to repress back up to the surface, and before he could stop himself, the tears were clouding his eyes and he choked back a cry.

"I… I'm sorry, my lady," Fíli gasped, his throat feeling raw. He hastily reached up to wipe his eyes, but his hands were shaking, and the tears kept coming. His cheeks burned, both with crying and the embarrassment of crumbling so easily in front of his visitor.

"Fíli," Arwen said gently. She reached out and slowly pulled his hands from his face, holding them in her own, soft hands, as she had done when they parted at Rivendell. "Do you remember the last thing I said to you before you left Imladris?"

Fíli thought back to their moment of parting in the sick room. Kíli had gone ahead to the east corridor to rouse the company, and he was helping Thorin dress for their journey. Estel was hovering by the doorway, waiting to sneak them out of Rivendell whilst the White Council met to discuss their quest. And Arwen, though reluctant, was also helping the company leave unnoticed. Her parting gift was a book about the history of Durin's folk, bound in dark red leather, which she had lent to Fíli during his stay.

"Never forget who you are," Fíli murmured, repeating Arwen's final words to him, blinking back the tears as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. "But I… I think I have… I'm not sure I know myself anymore."

"Fíli, listen to me," Arwen said, softly but firmly. "Before you are a king, or Thorin's heir, or even his nephew, you are yourself. And you are loved. You are loved for who you are, regardless of who you may become."

Fíli stared at Arwen, his heartbeat drumming in his ears, left utterly speechless. Her words were charged with such a wilful force, and as he heard them echoing in his mind, his breath caught in his throat. And now Arwen was studying him with a strange expression; she seemed to be poised on the verge of saying something else, but trying to decide how to say it, or if it should be said at all.

"I know it must feel like the world is ending," Arwen continued, clearly choosing her words carefully. "But I promise it does not end here, Fíli. Not for you. There is always light, even in the darkest of times."

Arwen's voice was filled with such hope, so much so that her very words seemed to shine with the light she spoke of, and this light was infectious. Fíli felt a warmth swelling within his chest, and now he wasn't so sure that the tear sliding down his cheek was from grief. He wondered if Arwen knew something, if her father had passed on some information before she left Rivendell. Elves were curious beings, and Fíli was sure they knew an awful lot more than they ever let on. But he wasn't going to push the subject. Something told him he wasn't ready to know just yet. Arwen's words were enough.

When Fíli didn't reply, Arwen smiled and spoke again, but this time in lilting Elvish. The unfamiliar words, with their syllables and sounds blurring effortlessly into one another, sounded like a prayer or a blessing. They shone with the same hope and encouragement as those she had spoken in Westron, and Fíli felt he didn't really need to know their meaning, like he already knew.

Swallowing to try and relieve the rawness in his throat, Fíli found himself smiling as his eyes met Arwen's. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

As Arwen closed the door to Fíli's room behind her, she could see Estel in the periphery of her vision, leaning against the wall of the passage-way, trying to look nonchalant. She rolled her eyes and began to walk back down the corridor. She knew he would be waiting for her. The sound of footsteps told her Estel had reached her side, but she didn't turn to him.

"Well?" Estel said casually, and she could feel his eyes on her.

"I did as you asked," Arwen replied. "And did not tell him explicitly what I saw… I only tried to give him hope, and some comfort."

Estel nodded thoughtfully. "One day Fíli will be ready to hear the truth of it, but for now we must be careful how we handle the subject of his future."

Arwen didn't reply as they continued towards the guard corridor. She had argued with Estel about how much Fíli should be told, but now she sensed that Estel was right, and telling Fíli everything she had seen in her vision at this point would have done more harm than good. But she didn't want to admit that.

"So, you did not tell him anything explicitly in Westron, but I am guessing you told him everything explicitly in Sindarin?" Estel said, speaking in Sindarin to make his point, as he turned to grin at Arwen.

Arwen refused to reply in either Sindarin or Westron. Estel was right for the second time that day, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

* * *

"Estel…? ESTEL!" Fíli cried out desperately, twisting in his chair towards the door, his blue eyes wide.

The room had begun to spin and it felt as if the walls were closing in on him, trapping him inside. And he couldn't breathe. Invisible hands were wrapped around his throat, pushing their fingers into his windpipe, so that each breath was shallower than the last. He had called out for Estel with what he thought might be his final breath as the panic threatened to pull him under completely.

"Fíli?" Estel burst into the room and rushed to Fíli's side, dropping to a crouch in front of him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I… I can't…" Fíli sputtered, his hand grappling at his tightening chest as he gasped for breath. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. And then he looked back to Thorin, lying on the bed next to him, and the feelings of nausea only doubled.

"Fíli… Fíli, look at me," Estel said, his tone calm and commanding. "You will not lose yourself to the panic… Now focus on me…"

Fíli tore his eyes away from Thorin and tried to concentrate on Estel's grey gaze, but the room continued to spin around him and with each short breath struggling out of his throat, focusing on anything proved difficult.

"Good, just keep your eyes on me," Estel said gently. "Stop overthinking your breathing and it will come back… Now, tell me, what colour are Kíli's eyes?"

Fíli stared at Estel questioningly, his laboured breaths coming short and sharp. "… Brown," he choked out, the one word feeling like regurgitating a sword.

"And what are his weapons of choice?" Estel asked, his eyes fixed on Fíli.

Fíli desperately fought against the panic and tried to inhale deeply. He managed enough breath to answer: "Bow… And sword…"

"Where is Kíli now?" came Estel's next question.

As Fíli's attentions slowly moved from the dead to the living, he found breathing becoming steadily easier. He sucked in a quivering breath as the room's spinning ground to a halt. "He's… He's out hunting," Fíli panted. "With… Elladan… and Elrohir…" He cursed the sons of Elrond for having such long names that required so much breath to say.

"And why have they gone hunting?"

"The company… is low on supplies," Fíli answered, taking a few deep breaths, relieved at being able to do so, though his throat still felt scratchy and sore.

"But why have they really gone hunting?" Estel urged, with a smile.

"Elladan… and Elrohir… needed an excuse to… get out of the Mountain for a while," Fíli replied, his breaths becoming steadier. "They hate being underground."

"Yes," Estel said, and there was the hint of a smirk in his smile. "Though they have lasted it out longer than I thought they would, I will give them that."

Fíli glanced around Thrór's bedchamber, as if to confirm that the walls were no longer moving. He reached up and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his fingers still trembling, and took another deep breath.

Estel's eyes didn't move from Fíli face, and he stayed crouching in front of him, peering up at him with a searching expression. "What brought this on?" he asked quietly.

Estel's question had an obvious answer, but Fíli knew he was looking for specifics. His gaze slowly moved from Estel to the corner of the room, where Thorin's belongings were laid out, and his eyes came to rest on the oak shield.

Estel followed Fíli's gaze. "Thorin's shield," he said, turning back to Fíli. "You did not notice it before?"

Fíli shook his head. This was the first time he had seen the oak shield since it had disappeared from his tent, weeks ago. He was sure it hadn't been in the corner on his first visit to Thrór's bedchamber, and when he had spotted it a few minutes ago it had provoked a particularly wrathful flashback to the battlefield. Fíli reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes, he drew in another deep breath. The flashbacks and the dreams had become rarer since Estel's arrival, but with Thorin's funeral arranged for the next morning, Fíli guessed he should have expected a regression.

"What is it about the oak shield that prompted this reaction?" Estel asked carefully, as Fíli straightened up in the chair.

Fíli could tell Estel was genuinely curious, and he supposed everyone was. He hadn't told anyone, not even Kíli, why he had been found clutching Thorin's shield out in that ditch in the corner of the battlefield. And then Thorin's voice came to him again: _"The shield… Don't let them bury me with it… It's yours now…"_ Fíli shuddered as his eyes moved back to the shield.

"Before… Before he died," Fíli began, his throat feeling thick and his tongue lead-heavy in his mouth. "Thorin told me he… he didn't want to be buried with the shield… He said it was mine now."

Estel nodded, as if this was what he had suspected all along. Fíli expected the questions about the battle to begin, and he wasn't sure he was ready for them, but instead Estel said: "We can carry out Thorin's wishes, and he will not be buried with the shield, but this does not mean you have to carry it."

Fíli stared at Estel. In only a few moments he had figured out all of Fíli's fears surrounding the shield, and everything it symbolised. The shield was part of his inheritance, passed down from Thorin… just like the crown. And Estel understood that he was not yet ready to accept either.

"Have you made a decision about the funeral?" Estel asked slowly, changing the subject. "Do you want to attend?"

Fíli's heart began a heavy thump against his ribs. "Yes… I have to be there," he replied. His eyes moved to the crutches leaning against his chair. "But I… I…" He wanted to say: 'I'm afraid', but he wasn't sure he was prepared to admit that to anyone. "If I go… everyone will see the state I'm in… hobbling in on crutches… I'll look weak."

"On the contrary, you will look very brave," Estel said, his voice low, firm. "No dwarf there will be able to deny your courage if you attend despite your injury, and they will respect you for it."

Fíli found himself nodding, and Estel continued: "But you will not be there for them, Fíli. You will be there for Thorin, and for Kíli."

"For Thorin and for Kíli," Fíli repeated, and with the thought of his family he felt he still had a little courage left in him.

He looked to Thorin, lying on the four-poster bed with that slight frown on his brow. He knew he was here to say goodbye. Thorin's body was to be moved down to the vaults that evening and, after the funeral, he would never see his uncle's face again. Before he had noticed the oak shield, Fíli had been speaking to Thorin, trying to find the words to say a final goodbye. But now he realised he would never find the words, and in the end there were no words sufficient for such a goodbye.

"You will see him again, Fíli," Estel said quietly, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. "But let us hope it will not be for some years yet."

Fíli looked from Estel to Thorin, unsure of what to say.

"Would you like to return to your room?" Estel asked, when Fíli stayed silent.

Fíli shook his head. "I… I just need a few more minutes."

"Of course," Estel smiled. "I will be just outside."

Fíli heard the door close as Estel disappeared out into the corridor, and he turned back to Thorin. There were no words. No words to say what needed to be said. Fíli hoped that somehow Thorin knew everything he wanted to say to him anyway. And so Fíli silently took his uncle's hand and held it for the last time.

* * *

"It's all right, it's just Dwalin," Kíli whispered gently, touching Fíli's shoulder.

Fíli had come to a stop when he saw the large, black shadow of a tall dwarf standing outside the doors to the main vault. The sloping passage-way, though lit with small, flickering candles, was unnervingly dark, making it difficult to distinguish faces. The air was much colder at the root of the Mountain and there was an eerie trickle of running water coming from somewhere in the distance.

"Do you need to rest?" Kíli prompted, when Fíli didn't reply.

Kíli and Estel had offered to carry Fíli down to the vaults for Thorin's funeral. There were several servants' passage-ways that snaked down from the upper corridors to the vaults and storerooms, so Fíli could be moved unnoticed. But he had insisted on making the journey there on his crutches. It was just something he had to do. Kíli had retied all his braids and helped him dress in the black clothes of mourning. Then Estel had arrived to join them for the walk down to the vaults. It had been a long trek, longer than Fíli ever imagined, and he had to stop several times to catch his breath, but he had been determined to make it there on his own.

"No… No, I'm fine," Fíli said, sucking in a deep breath. The ache in his arms was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to keep moving.

No one spoke and the only sound was the knocking of Fíli's crutches, echoing on the cold stone floor. Finally, Fíli, flanked by Kíli and Estel, reached Dwalin and the doors to the vault. Fíli looked up at Dwalin, and a sharp jab of pain dug into his stomach. This was the first time he had seen him since Thorin's death, and now he could see the grief carved deep into Dwalin's expression.

"It's good to see you, lad," Dwalin murmured, and Fíli had never heard him speak so quietly. He nodded, though he had no idea how to reply. Dwalin looked to Kíli and Estel. "Everyone's here now. There are seats set up at the front for you."

"I must join Arwen and her brothers," Estel said, turning to Fíli. He put his hands firmly on Fíli's shoulders, and lowered himself to his eye-line. "Courage, Fíli," he whispered.

Fíli only stared back, but he heard the voice in his head reply: _"For Thorin and for Kíli"_. After a courteous nod to Dwalin, Estel slipped through the doors into the vault. A burst of sound, footsteps and voices, came from the vault before the door closed again, and made Fíli's stomach churn. He knew Estel would have stayed with him if he had asked, but he also knew that having Estel, an unknown youth who had arrived in Erebor with elves, accompany him to the funeral might provoke even more unwanted attention. Fíli didn't want to give Dáin's councillors more to talk about.

"Ready, Fíli?" Kíli asked softly.

"…Yes," Fíli replied, looking up at the ceiling-high, richly engraved doors to the vault. At that moment he felt sick to his stomach, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest.

"I'll be with you every step of the way," Kíli said, smiling.

Fíli couldn't help but smile too, though he felt the threatening sting of saltwater in his eyes. What in Aulë's name would he do without Kíli?

Kíli looked to Dwalin and nodded. Dwalin pushed one of the doors and held it open so they could pass through. Kíli had told Fíli that Dwalin would probably meet them at the vault doors. Fíli sensed him shadowing his movements as he entered, and he realised Dwalin was there to serve as body-guard. If anyone so much as looked at Fíli the wrong way, they would not be leaving the vault with all their limbs intact.

When Fíli first entered, the low buzz of voices and shuffling of feet continued, but then all of a sudden a deadly hush swept through the vault and every single person fell silent. Fíli was confronted with a sea of people, all dressed in black, and he felt everyone's eyes boring into him. He wanted to look to Kíli for help, but he could do nothing but stare back at them, rooted to the spot in panic.

And then, without a word from anyone, the crowd parted, clearing a wide path for Fíli so that he could reach his place at the front of the vault, by Thorin's stone tomb. The sight of the tomb made Fíli's blood run cold, and his breath got caught in his throat. He tore his eyes away from it, for fear that he might crumple on the spot if he didn't. Instead, he peered around the huge, cavernous vault that was the resting place of the line of Durin. Thousands of candles, their bright halos shimmering like gold coins, had been placed on all the rocky ledges of the high walls, to bring some light to this deep, dark place. And Arwen's words came back to Fíli: _"There is always light, even in the darkest of times."_

Fíli's eyes returned to the crowd before him, and he found they were all still staring at him, silently and expectantly. And so, knowing there was no turning back, Fíli slowly began to move down the path cleared for him. Kíli stayed at his side, matching his step, and Dwalin followed close behind, like his shadow. And as he passed, everyone on either side of him began to bow. His eyes frantically moving from left to right, Fíli almost stopped, but he forced himself to continue and push through his panic and the pain in his chest.

Dwarves young and old watched him as he passed, and all bowed when he approached. Some were low bows, with a flourish or twirl of hands, and others were short, stiff bows, but there was no denying the uniform movement of the crowd. Fíli noticed that some dwarves had their arms in slings, and others had bandaged heads. Some even appeared to be leaning on others for support. Fíli, with his bandaged, splinted leg held off the floor, felt a strange kinship with these wounded dwarves who had come to pay their respects.

As they neared the front of the crowd, Fíli spotted Estel, standing with Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. Estel caught Fíli's eye, and smiled, holding Fíli's gaze as he bowed. Arwen and her brothers did the same. Another tall figure moved out from behind them: it was Gandalf. The wizard's blue eyes were twinkling as he gave a low bow. And there, gathered in front of Gandalf and the Rivendell party, were the company. Fíli's chest ached as he recognised them all, and he realised how desperate he was to speak to them. Despite the sad occasion, they all beamed at him, Bofur's smile being largest of all. Fíli's eyes moved from Dori and Ori, to Óin and Bifur, and then to Bilbo. The hobbit gave Fíli a meek, but encouraging smile as he bowed with the others.

Reaching Thorin's tomb, Fíli paused to catch his breath, aware that beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. The stone lid of the tomb was yet to be slid over Thorin's body and, although he wasn't close enough to see Thorin's face, Fíli could still see the tip of his uncle's long nose. He froze, tightening his grip on his crutches so that his knuckles were almost white. Tears began to cloud his vision, and he drew in one long, trembling breath.

"Fíli?" Kíli murmured, touching his arm.

Fíli turned to find Kíli watching him, his own eyes shining. He gestured to an ornate stone bench to their right. The bench next to it was occupied by Balin and Dáin, who both bowed when Fíli turned to them, though Dáin's bow was not as enthusiastic as Balin's, and the Lord of the Iron Hills was studying him with a strange look he couldn't fathom.

Fíli nodded and Kíli helped him lower himself onto the bench, taking his crutches and setting them down on the stone floor. Kíli and Dwalin were about to sit down either side of Fíli when a group in black cloaks, standing taller than any dwarf, broke from the crowd. It was Bard the Bowman, accompanied by half a dozen men of Lake-town. They approached Fíli cautiously, and Dwalin moved closer to his side, widening his stance.

Maintaining a safe distance, the group of men gave short bows, and then Bard took a step forward. With one hand he reached inside his cloak and produced a luminous, glittering white jewel the size of his palm. The Arkenstone. Everyone around Fíli tensed and there were sharp intakes of breath. Bard gave Fíli a curt nod, and then approached Thorin's tomb, carefully laying the Arkenstone on his breast.

Turning back to Fíli, he fixed him with his dark, piercing gaze. "There let it lie until the Mountain falls," he said, his deep, low voice echoing around the vault. "May it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell hereafter."

With that, Bard and his men retreated back into the crowd, leaving in their wake a stunned silence as all eyes returned to Fíli. Fíli could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and he barely had time to draw a breath before the doors of the vault were unexpectedly thrown open. Apparently intent on making a grand entrance, Thranduil suddenly swept into the vault, wearing long silver robes that glittered in the candlelight. He was joined by his son, Legolas, and the head of his guard, Tauriel, who walked behind him, followed by a handful of golden-haired elves. Mutters immediately rose from the crowd, which did not part for Thranduil out of respect, but more out of disgust. The Elvenking didn't appear to notice as he marched purposefully towards Thorin's tomb, and Fíli suspected he would have simply walked over any dwarf in his way to get to his intended destination.

Reaching the tomb, Thranduil turned to Fíli. The growl that escaped Dwalin's lips was low, but Fíli was sure the Elvenking had heard it. Legolas and Tauriel gave short, graceful bows, but Thranduil only tilted his head slightly, his bright blue eyes fixed on Fíli. Then, without a word, Thranduil drew his sword from the sheath strapped to his belt. Dwalin moved forward, as if preparing to tackle Thranduil to the ground, but Fíli quickly put a hand on his arm.

"Dwalin, it's all right," Fíli said, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's not his sword."

Sure enough, the sword that Thranduil held forward was not his, it was Thorin's. Orcrist. Taken from Thorin during their captivity in Mirkwood. Thranduil silently turned back to the tomb and laid Orcrist down on Thorin's breast, next to the Arkenstone. He gave Fíli one last, formidable look before heading back into the crowd, choosing to join Bard and his men.

After a few moments, the unnerved whisperings of all present died away, leaving behind another tense silence. Fíli glanced across at Kíli, his mouth dry and his eyes stinging, and Kíli turned to him, the tears already blurring his brown eyes. He gently moved his hand over Fíli's on the stone bench. Fíli turned back to Thorin's tomb, the pain once again swelling in his chest.

And that was when the singing started. It began with a few voices at the back of the vault, but soon others joined in the harmony, until almost every voice was lifted up in the ancient dirge for the dead. Those who were too young to know the words, or came from other lands, still hummed the lament's slow, mournful tune. The song echoed around the stone walls and rose up to the high ceiling, filling the whole vault, as if the Mountain itself were singing.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter took an age to write, and it's officially the longest chapter I've ever written, so well done if you've ploughed through all of it and, as always, I'd love to know your thoughts! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm really sorry for the delay with this chapter, but I've had a rather dramatic week. Suffice to say, I got my exam results and next week I'll be graduating university with a First Class honours degree in English Literature! So I've learnt that it is actually possible to write a multi-chapter fic during your finals period and still graduate. And can I just thank you all for being such supportive readers – you guys seriously helped me get through my exams and never failed to make me smile, so I really can't thank you enough! Now what better way to celebrate than with angst and drama? So here's Chapter Eleven…**

* * *

Fíli came to a stop just as they reached the stone archway connecting the servants' passageway to the upper corridor. He hunched over his crutches and drew in several shivering breaths. Even in the dim lighting of the passageway, Kíli could see the tears shining on his brother's cheeks, which were flushed with colour from the upward trek back to their room. Kíli hastily wiped away the tears burning in his own eyes, and then reached out and began to rub slow, soothing circles on Fíli's back. Fíli continued to stare at the floor, his teeth set hard against the pain. Glancing across at Estel, standing at Fíli's other side, the concern in Kíli's eyes communicated the question of whether it was now time to intervene. Estel gave a barely perceptible nod and was opening his mouth to make the suggestion when Fíli straightened up. Without a word, he continued through the archway, making the left turn towards his room.

They had been the first to leave the main vault after the engraved stone lid was placed over Thorin's tomb. Fíli's departure from the vault had mirrored his arrival, and the black-clad crowd had parted and bowed just the same. Dwalin had followed them to the doors, but then chosen to stay behind. Kíli could tell Thranduil's presence had got Dwalin's back up, and the older dwarf had let Estel take his place so he could return to stand guard by Thorin's tomb.

The only sound was the clacking of Fíli's crutches against the stone floor of the corridor, and Kíli and Estel moved silently in time with Fíli's steps, knowing that there was little comfort to be had in conversation which would only be rendered hollow by grief. Fíli was keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead when his left crutch suddenly skidded in the dust. With a lightning-fast reaction, Estel grabbed hold of Fíli's arm, keeping him upright as the crutch clattered to the ground. Fíli looked from Estel to Kíli, his eyes wide in shock and his chest heaving, as Estel helped him regain his balance.

Kíli's heart was hammering against his ribcage as he stooped to retrieve the fallen crutch. "Fíli," he said gently, as he straightened up. "Are you sure you can…?"

"Yes," Fíli cut across him, the single syllable hard and sharp as flint, and Kíli flinched. But then his tone softened as he added: "Please… I'm… I'm just tired… I have to do this on my own."

Fíli's blue eyes were shining as he spoke, and Kíli realised this was a plea. Fíli needed to prove to everyone and, more importantly, to himself that he was strong enough to make the journey there and back again without help. The pain and the exhaustion were scrawled all over his flushed features, but Kíli knew he was determined not to be beaten.

"Of course," he said softly, handing Fíli his crutch. "But take your time, there's no rush."

Fíli managed a weak smile, silently thanking his brother, as Estel helped him position the crutch and set off again towards their room. Fíli's step was now slow and cautious, and Kíli sensed that both he and Estel had instinctively moved closer to Fíli by half an inch or so, preparing for another fall. But the fall never came. Fíli made it to his room, and to his bed, without another pause to regain his breath. Estel and Kíli pulled back the bed sheets, and Fíli twisted himself around and sank down onto the bed.

"Would you like us to bring you some food?" Kíli asked, taking Fíli's crutches and returning them to their usual place, leaning against his bedside table.

Fíli shook his head. "I… I just need to sleep," he murmured, and his eyelids began to droop as he spoke.

Kíli nodded and started to help Fíli unbutton his black tunic. Estel knelt down and slipped the boot from Fíli's left foot. Carefully pulling the tunic from Fíli's shoulders, Kíli folded it and went to put it with their other spare clothes, piled on the floor by the bed.

Fíli's tired eyes followed him, and he absentmindedly straightened out the sleeve of the thin cotton shirt he had been wearing beneath the tunic. "Mother should have been there," he said quietly, his voice cracking.

Kíli's heart jolted painfully in his chest, and he felt an ominous sting in his eyes again. He moved back to Fíli's side and put a hand over his on the bed. "I know," he whispered. "But you were there. And…"

Kíli wasn't sure how to continue. He wanted to tell Fíli just how proud of him he was. He had never been prouder of his big brother. It had taken a great amount of courage to go down to the vault that morning, and Kíli wished he could praise Fíli's bravery and determination, but he guessed now was not the time.

"You were there," he repeated, tears beginning to blur his vision. "And that's all that matters now."

Kíli leaned forward and pressed his lips to Fíli's forehead. Screwing up his eyes, he felt one tear escape and slither down his cheek. He then lifted his head to rest his chin on the top of Fíli's hair, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Fíli pushed his face into Kíli's chest. The brothers held each other for a few long moments and then Fíli pulled away, his eyes bleary with both tears and need of sleep.

"You need to rest," Kíli said finally, and as Fíli lay back, he and Estel carefully lifted his bandaged leg up onto the bed.

Kíli pulled the bed sheets up to Fíli's chin and tucked them in around his shoulders. He then unfolded Ori's brown and gold knitted blanket, and by the time he had draped it over the sheets, Fíli was already asleep. His shoulders slowly slumped into the pillows and his head fell to the right, his mouth slightly agape. Kíli watched his brother for a few moments, and then sank down into the chair by his bedside. Estel, who had been wise enough to hover, silently, on the periphery of the brothers' shared grief, moved to perch on the edge of the bed.

"They all bowed," Kíli said, breaking the silence, with a hint of wonder in his voice. "All of them… Even Dáin's councillors sort of twitched forward." His eyes moved slowly away from Fíli to peer up at Estel.

"Your people have chosen their King," Estel replied, a small smile appearing on his lips as his gaze fell on Fíli. "And they will wait for him, until he is ready."

"Dáin was disappointed," Kíli muttered, remembering the look on his cousin's face when Fíli had taken a seat at his side. "He thought Fíli wouldn't show."

"Do not dwell too much on Dáin," Estel said, with a sigh. "He is ambitious, like any leader. Having power often breeds desire for more power… But when the time comes, he will not stand in Fíli's way."

Kíli nodded, trusting Estel's judgement. They were quiet for a few moments and then Estel straightened up. "Will you come to the feast?"

The traditional funeral feast was being held in the Entrance Hall. The camp had pooled supplies together and every fire was in use to prepare enough food for everyone, and to ensure it was a feast worthy of Thorin's name.

"I don't really want to leave him," Kíli said, his eyes flitting to Fíli's sleeping form.

Estel nodded, but seemed reluctant to go. "Would you like some company?"

It suddenly clicked with Kíli that Estel was worried about him. Estel was watching him intently, and the concern was evident in his grey eyes.

"Please, go and join the others, I'll be fine," Kíli replied, but, suspecting Estel wouldn't be satisfied with this, he conceded: "I'm not all right… But I will be." His eyes moved to Fíli. "I've got my brother back… And that's all that matters now."

* * *

Fíli took a long drag on his pipe and slowly blew the smoke out through his nostrils. His fingers were still shaking. He was hoping Bilbo's ration of Old Toby might quiet his nerves, but he guessed his anxiety was to be expected. Dwalin would be arriving any minute now, and unlike the visit from Ori and Bofur, Fíli knew that this time the subject of Thorin would not be avoided. It had been three days since Thorin's funeral, and from the moment Fíli met Dwalin's eye at the doors to the main vault, he had known he would have to speak to him sooner or later.

Drawing on his pipe once again, Fíli's gaze moved back to the door. It had taken a long time for him to pull together the courage to send for Dwalin, and he had spent hours tangling and untangling his thoughts about this meeting in his mind. Now he just had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he had no idea what he would actually say to Dwalin when he arrived. He didn't want to talk about the battlefield, but he also knew Dwalin had the right to know how his best friend had died. Fíli was also wary of the fact that Dwalin had known Thorin a lot longer than he had, and probably knew his uncle far better than anyone. There were no words of comfort to be had. All they could do was share in their grief and… A knock at the door put an abrupt stop to Fíli's train of thought.

"C-Come in!" Fíli called, cringing at the waver in his voice.

Dwalin slowly stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He paused by the door, glancing around the room as if overcome, before quickly regaining himself.

"Afternoon, lad," he said, with a nod, as he came to Fíli's bedside.

Fíli noted how cautious Dwalin's movements were as he approached him, and his light blue eyes kept moving around the room, as if he wasn't sure where to look. Fíli sensed that this anxiety wasn't due to uncertainty; Dwalin knew exactly why he had been sent for. After standing awkwardly at Fíli's side for a few moments, he slowly lowered himself into the chair usually occupied by Kíli.

"How's that leg of yours doing?" Dwalin asked, another nod indicating the mound of bed sheets covering Fíli's bandaged leg.

"Óin is helping me manage the pain," Fíli replied, using one hand to pull his back up straighter against the pillows, the other keeping a firm hold of his pipe. "I'm getting used to the crutches, though navigating corners is still a bit of a nightmare."

Dwalin smiled, but his eyes continued to roam, distractedly, from wall to wall.

"I know this used to be his room, Dwalin," Fíli said quietly, lowering his pipe.

Dwalin's eyes widened as they darted back to Fíli. "Your brother said he hadn't told you that."

"He didn't," Fíli admitted. "Thorin's sigil is carved into the bed-post."

He twisted slightly away from his pillows, pointing to the right of his head. There, just above the point where the bed-post met the head-board, was a roughly carved design, about the size of a coin. The wooden bed frame bore many lighter coloured scars, with some sizable chunks chipped away in places, so the etching wasn't immediately noticeable. Fíli had only discovered it after his first excursion to Thrór's bedchamber, when Estel had been settling him back into bed.

"And I found his initial too," Fíli said, when Dwalin seemed at a loss for words.

Fíli deposited his pipe on his bedside table and, twisting his body to the left, pulled away his pillows to reveal two Cirth runes; the letters' straight branches were cut into the bottom of the head-board, just above the mattress. After the discovery of Thorin's sigil, Fíli had gone searching for other clues to his uncle's past. He understood why no one had told him the truth about the room, and he was sure Kíli must have noticed Thorin's carvings, but finding them had been strangely comforting. It was as if Thorin was finding a way to reach him, and even though every time he caught sight of the sigil his heart throbbed painfully, there was still a feeling of connection and kinship.

"This is Thorin's initial," Fíli murmured, one finger tentatively tracing the lines of the smaller rune. "I'm not sure whose initial this is." He pointed to the second rune. "I think it's an 'E'…"

"Yes," Dwalin said, and his voice sounded strange. "That'll be Elsi."

Fíli slowly moved his pillows back over the runes and turned to Dwalin. "Elsi?"

"Thorin courted her for a while, though he was barely more than a bairn," Dwalin explained, his wry smile touched with sadness. "That girl broke your uncle's heart."

Fíli could do nothing but stare at Dwalin. All the stories he had ever heard about his uncle had been either war tales or anecdotes about younger mischief. No one had ever mentioned Elsi, or anyone Thorin might have courted, and Fíli had never asked. He didn't think it had ever occurred to him before… Stories of love, somehow, didn't seem to fit with the infallible image of his uncle that he and Kíli had grown up with.

"There are still so many things I don't know about him," Fíli said, his gaze dropping to his lap, and the weight of his ignorance, of all the questions he would never get to ask, fell heavily on his shoulders.

"I feel the same way, lad," Dwalin replied. "Most of the time I never could fathom what was going on in Thorin's head… But if there's anything you ever want to know about him, just ask me and I'll try to give you an answer."

"Thank you," Fíli whispered, a smile tugging on the edge of his lips.

A silence fell over the room and Fíli could sense all the things that were being left unsaid swelling up between them. He could see his own grief mirrored perfectly in Dwalin, sitting at his side, but he wasn't sure what to say to bridge the gulf between them.

"One thing I do know," Dwalin said, his voice deep and low as he leant towards Fíli. "Is that your uncle was so proud of you."

Fíli's heart skipped a beat and his mouth went dry. He heard Thorin's strained voice in his head again, and his uncle's final words as he fought for breath out on the battlefield echoed around his mind: _"And I need you to know… That I have never… been more proud of you…"_ Fíli's stomach squirmed at the memory and there was a tell-tale prickle in the corners of his eyes.

"Do you remember the first time you defeated an opponent in training using two swords?" Dwalin asked suddenly, throwing Fíli for a moment.

Of course he remembered that day. His rival had been almost twice his size and several years older, but it had also been the day he discovered his ambidexterity; his ability to wield a blade in his left hand with the same ease as in his right. It had been a gruelling match and Fíli's nose had been bloodied, but eventually his opponent had been forced to yield. He nodded slowly.

"Well, your uncle was there," Dwalin said, his blue eyes shining. "He saw you… He came running back to the forge to tell me and I've never seen him so giddy."

Fíli's eyes widened. _Thorin was there?_ "He… He never said," Fíli whispered. He thought back to the evening after his training victory and how he had told Thorin everything over supper. His uncle had smiled and nodded and congratulated him… and never let on that he had seen it all for himself.

"Thorin wasn't one to sing people's praises," Dwalin said quietly. "But even if he's been silent about it, I want you to know, lad, that your uncle has never doubted you for a second… He has always been proud of you and… and he loved you very much."

The tears that had been threatening to appear since Dwalin's arrival finally spilled into Fíli's eyes and he quickly reached up to brush them away. He had expected the conversation to be full of black words and woes, but in the end he was glad that they had spoken about how Thorin had lived, not how he had died. Dwalin's words resounded in Fíli's head, drowning out the lurking, poisonous thoughts. _"I want you to know, lad, that your uncle has never doubted you for a second…"_ A warmth began to spread outwards from his stomach and as the silence returned, Fíli felt that this time it was not heavy or congested with despair.

"Thorin and I said our parting words to each other long before we left for Erebor," Dwalin said, breaking the silence again, and there was a distant, pained look in his eyes. "We always knew we'd go in battle…"

Fíli's chest tightened as he sensed the conversation take a blacker turn, but he knew he had to let Dwalin say all that he needed to.

"I promised him I'd look after you and your brother if anything ever happened to him," Dwalin continued, and Fíli felt a twinge of pain when Dwalin's voice cracked on the last word. "And I'm going to do everything I can to keep that promise… If you or Kíli ever need anything, you just come to me, all right?"

Fíli found himself nodding, though he had no idea how to reply. Dwalin had always been so guarded and, aside from his quick temper, generally inscrutable. When not confronted by elves, it was rare to see him break his stoic warrior's façade.

"Right… I, er, should let you get some rest," Dwalin said, awkwardly getting to his feet.

Fíli sensed the older dwarf's embarrassment over the exchange of confidences, but wasn't going to comment. "Say hello to the company for me," he said, peering up at Dwalin with a small smile.

"Of course, lad," Dwalin replied. After a little hesitation, he clapped a firm hand on Fíli's shoulder and returned his smile, and then he headed for the door. His hand was on the door handle when he stopped and slowly turned back around to face Fíli. "And Fíli… I also want you to know," he murmured. "That whatever you decide to do, I'll follow you to the end."

* * *

Hundreds of pairs of eyes were boring into him and the crowd wouldn't part. Fíli stared in horror at the solid wall of black mourners gathered in front of him and shrank back against the doors. His wide, blue eyes darted to either side of him, but Kíli and Dwalin were nowhere in sight. He desperately sought out a familiar face in the dark sea of people before him, but he could find no one he knew. The company, Estel, Lady Arwen, Gandalf… They had all abandoned him.

The crowd, now resembling more of a mob, were still staring at him expectantly… Or was it accusingly? Either way, they expected him to do something. Knowing he couldn't turn back, Fíli began to move forward, though his crutches felt heavy as lead. The crowd barely stirred as he approached them, and then they wouldn't allow him to pass so easily. A narrow pathway was formed, but always only a few feet ahead of Fíli's steps, so he couldn't see the front of the vault. He knew that was his destination, and that something awaited him there, but he couldn't remember what.

As he fought his way through the assembled horde, Fíli could hear them whispering to each other. _"No king of mine…"_, _"Only a boy… He knows nothing…"_, _"…You know he just lay there and let Thorin die?"_ At the mention of his uncle's name, Fíli suddenly realised what he would find at the front of the vault, and his heart rose into his mouth. He had no time to cry out before the last few mourners on the edge of the crowd stepped out of his way… to reveal a black figure standing where a tomb should be. It was Thorin.

Fíli felt his trembling lips mouth his uncle's name, but no sound came out. He stood, frozen to the spot in terror, as Thorin took a step towards him. He looked just as he had done the day Fíli found him in the ditch in the corner of the battlefield with Azog the Defiler standing over him. His chest was a mess of criss-crossed wounds and his face was smeared red with blood that crusted around his eyes and mouth, and matted strands of dark hair to the side of his face. The only difference was the crown placed upon his head… Thrór's crown. The ornate silver design was shining with flecks of blood.

Fíli wanted to scream, to run, but he couldn't move, and he couldn't look away. He could do nothing but stare up at his uncle with terrified eyes as he moved towards him. And when Thorin came to a stop, he was so close that Fíli could smell the foul stench of blood and death. Barely able to breathe, Fíli could only watch in horror as Thorin reached up and slowly slipped the crown from his head. The silver rim was glistening with blood and a single scarlet droplet swelled on one of the design's dagger-like tips.

"Long live the King," Thorin growled, and his voice echoed around the vault like a thunder-clap.

And then, before Fíli had time to react, he brought the crown down upon his head and the metal burnt like a white-hot branding iron…

"NO!"

Fíli sat bolt upright in the bed, his chest heaving. His heart was rioting against his ribcage and each breath had to claw its way out of his throat. He was alone in his room on the upper corridor and a single candle burned on his bedside table, casting menacing black shadows on the surrounding walls that loomed large like a mob of people, threatening to swallow him whole.

With shaking hands, he reached up to his head, but his fingers found only braids and strands of hair, sticky with sweat. No crown. No blood. But still he needed to scream, and he needed to run. The walls seemed to quiver as Fíli's eyes desperately roamed around the room… and then his gaze fell on the crutches leaning against the table at his side.

* * *

"Hang on there, Kíli! I think we can spare a bit more," Bofur said, when Kíli made to turn away with Fíli's bowl.

Kíli smiled and held the bowl out again for Bofur, who added another ladle of stew from the pot boiling over the company's fire.

"I won't hear of the lad going hungry on my watch," Bofur added, spooning a little more gravy into the bowl until he was satisfied.

Kíli's hunting trip with Elladan and Elrohir had been surprisingly fruitful, so there was little chance of Fíli starving in the next few weeks, but Bofur's fussing and continuing good humour at the return of Fíli's appetite always put everyone in a good mood. Each meal was lovingly prepared, and Bofur wouldn't hear of a bowl being sent to Fíli until he was fully convinced it was up to standard.

Estel watched as Kíli left the company's fire and headed out of the Entrance Hall, holding a steaming bowl in each hand so that he could share supper with Fíli. Now that Fíli's meal had been taken care of, Bofur began to ladle out everyone else's helpings. They all waited patiently as the mismatched array of bowls was passed around the circle. He glanced across at Arwen, sitting at his side, who gave him a smile… a searching one. He was being unusually quiet and she knew it. But there was a strange feeling of foreboding that he couldn't place resting at the bottom of his stomach, and it made him ill at ease.

"Your brothers not joining us, my lady?" Bofur asked, drawing Arwen's eyes away from him.

"Not tonight," Arwen replied, with a sigh. "They are supping with Tauriel and her guard in King Thranduil's camp."

Elladan and Elrohir had first met the fiery-haired leader of the Mirkwood guard at Thorin's funeral and since then the pair had been disappearing off to the Elven camp across the river. Estel had never seen Arwen roll her eyes so much, and she wouldn't be convinced that it was the call of fresh air that was drawing her brothers out of the Mountain.

"Is it true the Elvenking will soon be leaving?" Balin asked quietly, studying Estel and Arwen across the fire.

"Yes," Estel replied, taking the opportunity to set his bowl down at his side; as good as Bofur's cooking was, he didn't feel up to eating much. "Their camp cannot outlast the winter. Legolas says they intend to make a full withdrawal in the next week or so."

Dwalin grunted something into his stew, earning a glare from Balin, who then turned to Arwen with contrition. Arwen only smiled; she had learned not to take the dwarves' remarks personally, and she was equally unfond of Thranduil's theatrics.

"Bard has been sending scouts over to Dale," Balin continued, trying to change the subject. "I think he's going to be moving his camp into the ruins for the winter. Though there's trouble brewing with the Master… Now that is one fight we don't want to get involved in."

There was a murmur of agreement and then everyone's attention returned to their bowls. For a few moments the only sound was the scraping of spoons, but suddenly this was drowned out by the hard patter of footsteps and Kíli burst back into the Entrance Hall, skidding to a stop by the company's fire. His face was a terrifying shade of white.

"Fíli isn't in our room!" he cried. His brown eyes, round with panic, moved straight to Estel.

"What?" Estel was on his feet in an instant.

"His… His bed's empty," Kíli gasped. "He's gone!"

* * *

**A/N: Apologies again for the delay guys, but this week has been quite manic and I just haven't had much time or energy to write. But I'm glad I finally found time to post this and you know I'm always eager to hear what you think, so please do let me know!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey guys! I graduated last week (and didn't fall flat on my face once during the ceremony!) so now I'm back home for the summer and updates should be fairly regular from now on. As always, I have to say a massive thank you to you all – you guys are the most amazing and most wonderfully loyal readers I could ever ask for, and your support really does mean the world to me! Now I left you with a bit of a nasty cliffhanger last chapter, so I think it's about time we find out where our favourite blonde-haired dwarf has got to…**

* * *

Panic. It felt as if invisible, icy-cold claws were curling around his heart, ready to rip it straight out of his ribcage. Kíli stood, frozen on the spot, as if his boots had sprouted roots into the stone beneath them, and his wide eyes moved from Estel to the rest of the company. At that moment, unable to think straight, he couldn't even begin to imagine where Fíli might have gone… The only thought in his head was that Fíli had obviously needed him, and he hadn't been there.

"The boy has a broken leg, he can't have got far!" Dori was the first to speak, and the other members of the company continued to exchange silent looks of bewilderment and trepidation.

Kíli's eyes returned to Estel, his heart beating painfully fast inside his chest. They both knew that Fíli was getting stronger and more adept with his crutches, and had seen his determination first-hand when they had escorted him to and from Thorin's funeral… If Fíli needed to run, Kíli was sure he could manage it.

"Well, he hasn't been through the Entrance Hall, so he must be somewhere in the Mountain," Balin said, his voice firm and calm, though the worry lurking in his brown eyes betrayed him.

"That narrows it down," Dwalin growled, but his sarcasm could barely mask the fear written all over his ashen features. With a sickly jolt, Kíli realised he had only ever seen Dwalin look this pale once before – the night they had met outside Fíli's tent, a day after Thorin's death, and his boots had been shining with black orc blood.

"Perhaps he was trying to make his way here and he's got lost down one of the servants' passageways?" Bofur offered quietly.

"Have you checked Thrór's bedchamber?" Balin turned to Kíli, his brow furrowed. "Some of Thorin's belongings are still in there. Maybe Fíli…"

Balin trailed off as Kíli forced himself to answer with a negative shake of his head. And then Dwalin was suddenly at his side.

"Well, we can't just stand here!" Dwalin barked. "We have to find him… Come on, lad."

Dwalin clamped a heavy hand on Kíli's shoulder and shook the paralysis from him. He let Dwalin steer him away from the fire and then, without another word, they both broke into a run.

"Kíli!" Estel called after him, but Kíli had already disappeared with Dwalin through the Entrance Hall's west archway.

With a muttered curse, Estel turned back to the company. Dori, Ori, and Óin were engaged in a whispered debate over where to search first, and Bofur had gone running after Bifur who seemed intent on launching his own search party, beginning at a neighbouring fireside. Balin was already immersed in damage limitation, speaking to a few dwarves who had heard the commotion and were offering help. It appeared he knew as well as Estel did that if word of Fíli's disappearance got out, the vultures would begin circling again. Suddenly Estel felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Arwen studying him.

"You know where he is?" she said, her lips barely moving.

Estel glanced around at the company, then nodded.

"Go."

And with a single word, Arwen pushed Estel forward. He slipped away from the fireside unnoticed and, although he followed in Kíli and Dwalin's wake through the west archway, his journey would not take him to the upper corridors, but down deeper into the ground.

* * *

Fíli pulled his knee closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around it, and buried his face in the soft fabric of his sleeve. He was sitting on the hard, dusty floor of the main vault, his bandaged leg straight out in front of him, the other drawn up to his chest, and his back was pressed against the cool, smooth stone of Thorin's tomb. The cold was strangely soothing, and it numbed the pain of the wounds running parallel to his spine that were protesting against this unexpected exertion. The freezing stone floor was less inviting, and Fíli could no longer feel the toes on his left foot. In his hasty and desperate departure from his room, he hadn't bothered to pull on his boot, but now he was beginning to regret that decision. He had no idea how Bilbo had managed to get all the way to Erebor barefoot.

The vault was a lot darker than it had been on the day of Thorin's funeral. Now it was lit only by a few scattered candles, and Fíli, hunched as he was by his uncle's tomb, was struggling to find the light in this dark place. He was sitting on the side of the tomb furthest from the main doors, facing a wall of black rock, with everything else hidden from view behind him. He had come here because he needed to speak to Thorin… and also to remind himself that all that had happened in his dream had not really come to pass. He had walked the same path down the vault to Thorin's tomb and forced himself to recall how the funeral had actually unfolded… _They cleared a path for you_, he told himself, _and they all bowed_. _And Kíli and Dwalin and everyone were there… _Everyone had been there except Thorin. He had not been standing at the front of the vault; he had been lying, still and silent, in the tomb he was now resting against.

Fíli kept his forehead pressed into his sleeve and sucked in another shuddering breath. His eyes were tightly closed, but the tears were still finding ways to escape, and he felt the water dribbling down his nose. Talking to Thorin in this place had been a strange and galling experience… It felt like he was speaking to stone more than to his uncle, and the eerie way his voice had echoed around the cavernous vault had unnerved him enough to make him stop. Instead, he had been reduced to silence, sitting in the dark, confronted once again with the excruciating, overwhelming reality that Thorin was gone. He was crushing his knee to his chest because that's where it hurt, and trying to crush the pain gave him something to do, to make him feel as if he was still fighting.

Fíli's eyes darted up from his arm when he heard the doors behind him creak open. He stayed as still as the stone surrounding him and listened, his heart thumping rapidly against his ribs. Footsteps were approaching the tomb, but the step was not Kíli's and it was too light to be a dwarf. Fíli looked to his left just as Estel appeared at his side.

"Fíli," Estel sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Fíli flinched, expecting Estel to either reprimand him for running or begin fussing over him. But Estel did neither. Instead, he slowly stooped down and moved Fíli's crutches to the side, making enough space so that he could sit down next to him. He lowered himself onto the floor and sat with his legs straight out in front of him. Fíli expected Estel's eyes to be fixed on him, but when he glanced across at the ranger, he found that Estel was inspecting the dark wall opposite them.

After a few long moments of silence, Fíli realised Estel was waiting for him to speak. He thought back to their first meeting in his room when Estel had said: _"I am here only to listen."_ At that point, Fíli hadn't wanted to talk about the battle, about Thorin… about everything he was afraid of. But now, after speaking out loud to stone and feeling as if no one was really listening, Fíli wondered if it would be better to speak to someone whom he knew would listen… someone who could answer. For weeks and weeks he had been plagued by flashbacks and nightmares, and he was exhausted. Maybe it was finally time to share the load.

"I think I'm ready to talk about the battlefield," Fíli said, trying to push the waver out of his voice as his words rose up, reverberating around the high ceiling.

Estel turned to him. He didn't say a word, but the look in his grey eyes urged him to continue. Fíli had spent a long time trying to train his mind not to return to the battlefield, so he now found that it would not venture there willingly, and as his thoughts stumbled over each other, he was left unsure of how to begin.

"Shall we start with the arrow?" Estel suggested, clearly sensing Fíli's struggle.

"What?" Fíli breathed, and a flash of pain suddenly tore across his left side, exactly where he had ripped out an arrow all those weeks ago.

"It is a wound you rarely mention, if ever," Estel replied carefully. "As if you are trying to cover up the fact that, despite your serious injury, you still delivered your brother safely from the battlefield and returned to seek out your uncle."

"Don't do that," Fíli said, a definite edge in his voice. "Don't make me out to be a hero."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," Estel said, a sly smile lurking on his lips. "I am merely pointing out that your selfless acts were selfless."

Estel's smirk helped to diffuse some of the tension building between them, and Fíli relaxed his hunched posture slightly. "I did what any decent dwarf would have done," he murmured, his tone softer. "I just wanted to make sure Kíli was safe… I didn't care what happened to me after that."

"Which is why you went after Thorin alone," Estel said quietly.

Fíli lowered his head, confirming Estel's assertion. He then turned his eyes to the wall and tilted his head back, leaning against the tomb. "I don't know how long it took me to search the battlefield… Everywhere I went I turned over bodies, praying every single time that the face wouldn't be Thorin's… And I went from soldier to soldier like a child begging with a bowl and asked the same questions over and over again…"

_Have you seen Thorin? Have you seen my uncle?_ Fíli heard the words echoing around his mind, although he couldn't bear to say them out loud, and the tears returned, slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. It took a while for him to find the will to continue, but with Estel sitting patiently at his side, Fíli knew that, no matter how painful it became, he had to see this tale through to its inevitable end.

"I finally found Thorin in that… that Aulë forsaken ditch out in the corner of the battlefield," Fíli whispered, his voice cracking. "And… And I was too late… I got there too late…"

The cry got stuck in Fíli's throat, but he reached up a trembling hand to cover his mouth and stifle it all the same. Screwing up his eyes, he squeezed the tears out of them, but when he opened them again they still stung.

"Fíli…" Estel said gently, but Fíli began to speak over him. He didn't want Estel's words of comfort, or of pity; he just needed to continue with his story before grief drowned out the words completely.

"He was lying there in the dirt with the Pale Orc standing over him… He didn't say anything to me… but I could see the horror in his eyes when he realised who I was… He wanted me to run, I know he did…"

There was a pause as Fíli regained his breath, and when it looked like carrying on was going to prove difficult, Estel prompted: "But you didn't run."

"No," Fíli said, and the syllable became hard in his mouth as he remembered Azog the Defiler leering up at him and the way his great, white foot had touched Thorin's head. "Azog wanted my uncle to die alone in that ditch… But I wasn't going to let that happen… I was going to make sure he wasn't alone…" Fíli gritted his teeth as he spoke and his fingers curled into fists at his side.

"So you fought the Pale Orc," Estel said, urging Fíli to persevere and push through the anger.

Fíli nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the wall, and he saw everything played out again in his head… every stroke of his sword, every lunge he made. His fingernails were digging into his palms as he answered: "Azog brought his mace down upon my back and he broke my leg… but I wasn't going to let him touch Thorin again… So when I couldn't reach my sword, and he was leaning over me, convinced he had won… I grabbed Thorin's shield and I smashed it against his skull!"

A flash of white-hot rage blinded Fíli for a split second, but then he felt Estel's hand close over his fist. His head snapped to the side and he suddenly became aware of a burning in his palms.

"Fíli, you need to calm down," Estel murmured, his brow furrowed.

Fíli bristled at Estel's admonition, but then Estel carefully unfolded his fingers to reveal several angry, red half-moons on his palm where his nails had broken the skin. At the sight of them, Fíli regained himself, and opened his other hand to find an identical pattern on his palm. He inhaled deeply and put a hand to his forehead, blinking back the hateful tears.

"I killed him," he said, his voice hollow as he tried to keep the anger at bay. "I stabbed my sword into his gut and then I stabbed it in again… and I finished him off with another blow from Thorin's shield."

Drawing in a deep, quivering breath, Fíli leant his head back against the tomb again. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the stinging sensation needling both his palms to try and distract himself from the explosion of pain in his chest… And as the anger slowly seeped out of him, slithering away into the stone, he felt the familiar ache of grief begin throbbing within him once again.

"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, peering up at the black, rocky ceiling arched above him, spotted with candles like stars. "It doesn't matter that I killed Azog… because Thorin died anyway."

"It matters," came the calm reply from his left.

Fíli slowly turned to study Estel. "Why?"

"Fíli, you cannot keep blaming yourself for Thorin's death," Estel said, and there was a sternness in his voice matched by the sternness in his eyes. "It was not of your doing… And there is a reason Thorin was still alive when you found him. Azog was never going to give your uncle a quick and easy death."

Fíli's eyes widened as the implications of all Estel had said slowly began to sink in. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips. Instead, he stayed silent and let Estel continue.

"It matters that you came to Thorin's aid when you did, and it matters that you killed Azog the Defiler," Estel said, and there was fire in his voice. "It matters because you know Azog intended to torture Thorin out there in that ditch until he screamed for death… You saved your uncle from such a fate."

Fíli's heart was pounding in his chest and he could do nothing but stare at Estel, bewildered… because he knew he was right. Fíli had spent so many agonising hours going over every detail of the battle in his mind and he had never once stopped to think how strange it was that Azog hadn't simply killed Thorin before he jumped down into the ditch. Now he realised the Pale Orc had wanted to make his appearance part of the torture… He was going to let Thorin see his nephew cut down before him when he was helpless to stop it. And Fíli knew Azog hadn't intended his death to be quick and easy either. He could still hear Azog's sinister laugh echoing around his mind, grating against his ears like broken glass. He continued to stare at Estel, tears blurring his vision, as he slowly began to process these new revelations… _You saved your uncle from such a fate._

"Thorin asked not to be buried with his shield," Estel said, a wariness in his words. "Did he say anything else to you before he died?"

Fíli suspected Estel already knew the answer, but still, trying to ignore the sickly twitch in his stomach, he replied: "He… He told me he had never been more proud of me…" The words struggled, heavy as they were with pain, from his mouth. He could no longer picture Thorin's face, and could only see the poisonous yellow of the sky that had stretched over the battlefield. "And he wanted me… to tell Bilbo he was sorry… and to tell Kíli and Mother that he loved them."

Fíli froze when he thought he heard the doors creak behind them, but when no footsteps followed, he turned to Estel and his throat felt raw when he spoke: "I just wanted to take his hand… but I couldn't move… He was lying so close to me, but I couldn't reach him… I couldn't…"

With his shoulders beginning to shake, Fíli hunched forward. His hand moved to cover his mouth again and his lips trembled against his palm. He felt Estel's hand on his shoulder, but kept his eyes on the floor.

"You were there at his side, Fíli," Estel said softly. "He knew you were there with him, and you did what you set out to do… You made sure Thorin did not die alone."

The toxic flames of battlefield sky flickered in front of Fíli's eyes and he heard Thorin's final words resounding in his head: "_Forgive me, Fíli…_" Estel was right; Thorin had not died alone. But Fíli had been left alone to face his own death in the same ditch. He stiffened at the thought and Estel tactfully withdrew his hand from his shoulder.

"I thought I was going to die too," Fíli said, his voice icy. "And I was so scared… I faced death like a child."

"Fear is a perfectly natural response to death," Estel replied evenly. "If you ask anyone who has ever been in battle and had a brush with death, I am sure they will tell you they were afraid when they expected their own ending. And if they say they were not, they are lying."

"Thorin knew he was dying and he wasn't afraid," Fíli said, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

Estel fixed him with a curious look in his grey eyes. "How do you know?"

Fíli opened his mouth, but the retort vanished from his mind when he realised that he really didn't know. The idea that Thorin had been as scared as he was had never occurred to him. He couldn't even imagine Thorin being afraid of anything. It was part of the infallible image of his uncle he had grown up with… But now, after his death, Fíli was beginning to explore the sides of Thorin he never knew; someone who courted and had his heart broken, someone who knew fear… And such revelations didn't make him think any less of the Thorin he had known.

Estel was watching Fíli intently, reading his thought processes in his changing expressions, and when it seemed he had come to a conclusion, Estel asked: "Did Kíli ever speak to you about a dwarf named Varnin?"

Fíli turned to Estel, thrown by the change of subject. "No," he answered, raising an eyebrow. He had never heard Kíli mention anyone named Varnin.

"Varnin fought with your uncle at the Battle of Azanulbizar," Estel explained quietly. "And he died in the main tent on the same day as Thorin, with Kíli at his bedside."

Fíli studied Estel, drawing his brows together. He wasn't sure where Estel was going with this, but the thought of Kíli, left alone on the day their uncle died, made his chest ache.

"Kíli told me about him when I first arrived in Erebor. Varnin's death upset him because all he could remember about him was the look of fear he had seen in his eyes when he passed," Estel murmured. "Varnin, like all of us, was afraid to die, but it did not make him any less of a warrior or make Kíli think any less of him."

Fíli understood why Estel had told him this story, and he had proven his point. But all Fíli could think about now was Kíli… His little brother who, mere hours before hearing of his uncle's death, had watched someone else die and had to suffer through it on his own. Familiar feelings of guilt began to bubble in his stomach.

"Kíli never told me," Fíli whispered, and then, before he could stop himself, he added: "How can I be a good king if I can't even be a good brother?"

Fíli froze. He hadn't intended to bring up the subject of the crown. It was something he had been avoiding at all costs ever since he was brought back from the battlefield. But he knew it was a subject he would have to confront sooner or later… and it was inevitable that talk of Thorin's death would lead to it. Still, his pulse was racing as he looked to Estel for his reaction.

"Brothers make mistakes and so do kings," Estel said, the hint of a smile on his lips. "But good brothers and good kings try to rectify their mistakes, as you are doing with Kíli."

Fíli's gaze moved to the floor. He _was_ trying to rectify his mistakes, but he felt he hadn't been trying hard enough. The last thing he wanted was for Kíli to feel alone again, and he was going to make sure his brother knew he could talk to him about anything, as he always had done before the battle. But now he and Estel were on the subject of kings and crowns, and part of Fíli wished he had never said anything. His throat felt tight and his stomach had begun to knot itself again.

"I will not push the issue, Fíli," Estel said carefully, as if reading Fíli's mind. "But in regards to the crown, I know you are worried about the title, about any official proclamation… But you can be a king without announcement or ceremony. You become a king when you start acting like one, and you have been a king ever since you arrived in Rivendell."

Fíli's heart jolted, but it was not out of fear… Some other, foreign emotion had hold of him now. It was strange and almost giddy, and Fíli couldn't place it. He was about to reply when he heard a definite creak and step sound behind them. Instinctively turning his head to the right, Fíli was met only with the sight of stone, and he wasn't close enough to see around the corner of the tomb.

"Kíli is standing by the doors," Estel said, his voice low.

Fíli's eyes widened. "How long has he been there?" he breathed.

"Long enough."

With a sigh, Fíli leant back against Thorin's tomb and called out to his brother: "Kíli!"

At the sound of his own name echoing across the vault, Kíli winced. He took a short step back, fighting against the urge to run. The guilt was throbbing in his chest and he knew he shouldn't have been listening in on Fíli and Estel's conversation… but it had been impossible to leave after the first thing he had heard was his name: _"I just wanted to make sure Kíli was safe… I didn't care what happened to me after that."_

As soon as he and Dwalin had burst into Thrór's bedchamber, Kíli had realised they were in the wrong place. Fíli wouldn't want Thorin's belongings, he would want Thorin himself. And so Dwalin had, tactfully, let Kíli make the journey down to the main vault on his own. Kíli hadn't expected someone to have beaten him to it. Fíli and Estel were sitting out of view, on the other side of Thorin's tomb, and he had stayed as still as stone in the doorway, tears silently sliding down his face, listening to Fíli's story… hearing for the first time how everything had unfolded on the battlefield and how Thorin had died. As Fíli spoke, Kíli had felt as if he were experiencing everything along with him, and it had been like having a knife twisted into his stomach. And then Fíli had mentioned his name again: _"…and to tell Kíli and Mother that he loved them."_ Kíli had taken an unconscious step back into the doorway as his heart threatened to give in. He was sure Fíli and Estel had heard the sound, but Fíli had continued his story, bringing it to its inevitable end.

"Kíli, please… I know you're there." Fíli's strained voice drifted across the vault, and the unmistakable note of pain in it forced Kíli to move forward.

Hastily wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, Kíli went to Thorin's tomb, his unsteady step echoing around the rocky walls. He found Fíli and Estel sitting side by side on the floor, and before Fíli had chance to say anything, Kíli dropped to his knees in front of his brother and pulled him into a crushing embrace. He wrapped his arms around Fíli's shoulders and pushed his nose into his blonde hair. Fíli buried his face in Kíli's shoulder and the two brothers held each other fiercely for a few long moments. It was an embrace that spoke volumes; it spoke of Kíli's relief at finding his brother unharmed, of Fíli's determination to never let Kíli feel alone again, of their shared grief for their uncle, and, most importantly, of love. But it didn't quite say everything.

Kíli slowly pulled away and pressed his forehead against Fíli's, keeping his hands on his brother's shoulders. "You _are_ a good brother," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Don't you dare think any different."

Fíli peered up at him, his blue eyes shining, seemingly at a loss for words. Kíli thought back over everything he had just heard from the doorway and, blooming through the pain, pride swelled up in his chest.

"You saved me, Fíli, and you saved Thorin," he whispered, and he moved to hold Fíli again.

Resting his chin on Fíli's shoulder, Kíli wrapped his arms around his brother once more. He held him tightly and nothing at all was going to convince him to let Fíli go. The last time he had been in the vault, despite the pain of saying goodbye to Thorin, Kíli had felt an extraordinary sense of hope, and now he felt it flowering again with the pride at his core. Pride and hope for Fíli. His brother and his King.

* * *

**A/N: Cue 'King and Lionheart' by Of Monsters and Men. (Though the soundtrack to this chapter is really the haunting 'Cold As It Gets' by Patty Griffin.) Now, I know we're all busy fangirling over the first 'Desolation of Smaug' production vlog, but if you could take two seconds to let me know what you thought of this chapter, I would, as ever, really appreciate it! **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey everyone! Well, firstly, you may have noticed that 'Bring Them Home' has a new cover photo, and I just want to say an enormous thank you to the wonderful Mhyin for drawing some fabulous fanart for this fic. I demand that you all go and check out her amazing artwork, which you can find at mhyin. tumblr. com! And secondly, I am forever being overwhelmed by the response to this story and I just can't thank my readers enough for sticking with me, despite the copious amounts of emotional trauma I've been inflicting. I'm hoping Chapter Thirteen will provide a little light relief, but I have restocked my tissue box supply just in case…**

* * *

Fíli sighed as Kíli began kneading his left foot with the warm washcloth. He was lying on his bed, propped up on his elbows, with his left foot resting on the towel in Kíli's lap. Kíli, sitting with a basin of warm water at his side, continued to studiously wash the dirt and grime from his brother's foot. His gentle massaging worked some feeling back into Fíli's foot, which had been subjected to two trips, to and from the vaults, rendering it almost blue by the time Fíli had returned to their room.

"Starting to feel your toes again?" Kíli asked, with a soft smirk, giving Fíli's big toe a pinch for good measure.

"Yes, thank you," Fíli replied, wriggling his toe away from Kíli's grasp, a smile twitching on his lips.

"They've got their colour back, anyway," Kíli murmured. "You know I did offer to fetch your boot for you… If only you weren't so stubborn."

"I managed just fine."

"Yes, and you brought half of Erebor's dust with you." Kíli glanced at the basin at his side. The water was now muddy brown in colour. "You're lucky I'm willing to go near your feet."

"There's nothing wrong with my feet," Fíli said, with a tone of mock-offence.

He suddenly jerked his big toe into Kíli's unsuspecting nose and Kíli recoiled with a yelp, but they both ended up snorting back their laughter… and then they froze. With his heart hammering in his chest, Fíli's eyes met Kíli's, and in that moment they realised that, if only for a few seconds, they had forgotten. It was an experience so unexpected, especially in light of all that had just passed in the vaults, that the brothers simply stared at each other in shock. And then Fíli saw the pain return to cloud Kíli's brown eyes, just as surely as it was reappearing in his own. His stomach squirmed with a hot and sickly feeling which he recognised as guilt… the guilt of forgetting, now coupled with the ache of remembering.

Kíli didn't comment, and quickly tore his eyes from Fíli's, focusing on drying his brother's foot with the towel. The silence was like being slammed back onto the freezing, hard ground of the vault, and Fíli dug his elbows further into the mattress, trying to force the breath out of his throat. It was true that talking to Estel, painful as it had been, had felt like a release; similar to the one he had experienced when he had spoken to Thorin for the first time in Thrór's bedchamber. But now Fíli wasn't sure how to react to the momentary loss of pain in his chest, and as his fingers slowly began to curl over the edge of his grief, he realised he had no idea how to navigate the uncertain path of letting go laid out before him.

Fíli looked to Kíli, as if for answers, as he rose from the bed, carrying the towel and basin of water over to the table by the fire. His movements were slow and guarded, and Fíli sensed that he was trying to deal with the same guilt. Their laughter had momentarily taken the redness from Kíli's eyes, but now Fíli saw, as he looked at his brother's profile, that the soreness from crying remained. He heard Kíli's voice in his head: _"You saved me, Fíli, and you saved Thorin…"_Visions of him standing in the doorway of the main vaults - a trembling, black silhouette - filled Fíli's mind like shadows spreading into the corners of a room. It came to him then that, although the events he had recounted had been turning over and over in his mind for weeks, it was the first time Kíli had heard the whole truth about the battlefield.

"I… I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Fíli whispered, just as Kíli turned away from the table.

Kíli stopped, noticeably flinching; he obviously knew exactly what Fíli was referring to. But then his face relaxed, and he returned to the bed, perching on the edge by Fíli's knee.

"I think I understand why you couldn't tell me," Kíli said quietly, his expression serious. "It's not your fault… You needed time."

Fíli couldn't deny the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked at his brother. The eternally-patient, eternally-forgiving Kíli… Traits he had no doubt inherited from their mother. Fíli once again found himself wondering how he would have ever made it this far without Kíli at his side.

"Did… Did Thorin really mention me before he… died?" Kíli asked suddenly, and there was a hint of his much younger self evident in his tone. He studied Fíli with a strange, insecure look in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by fear of having said the wrong thing.

Before Kíli could withdraw the question, Fíli answered: "Of course… Of course he did." With his brow furrowed, he added firmly: "He loved you, Kíli."

Kíli nodded, then looked away for a moment, as if processing this confirmation he clearly needed. Fíli thought back to their first argument after the battle… There had been a similar look in Kíli's eyes when he had said: _"I just wish I could have been there…"_ Waiting to see if Kíli had further questions, Fíli felt his back begin to burn, objecting to the strain caused by resting on his elbows. He slowly shifted himself down into his pillows, lying flat against the bed sheets.

"You need to sleep," Kíli said gently, seeming relieved at being able to drop the subject of all that had been said in the vaults.

Fíli wished his body didn't have such an automatic response to being horizontal. His eyelids had already begun to feel heavy and his head throbbed; all part of the siren-song of sleep. Every excursion on his crutches seemed to incur the same inevitable exhaustion. But then black images of Thorin and the bloodied crown burst in front of Fíli's eyes, bringing a lump to his throat and making his stomach turn.

"I've had enough sleep for today," he said, and there was a splinter of ice in his voice.

Kíli's eyes looked him over warily, and then realisation dawned. Fíli hadn't told him what had prompted his hasty, unannounced departure from their room, but he knew Kíli had spent enough time in the early hours of the morning wrestling him out of his night terrors to make the connection.

"I'll stay with you, if you want," Kíli said, a little cautiously. "I'll be here this time."

The guilt in his voice as he spoke was unmistakable. Instead of trying to find a way to tell Kíli it wasn't his fault - that none of this was his fault - Fíli simply found himself nodding, attempting a small smile. Without a word, Kíli rose and helped him slide under the bed sheets and rearrange his pillows. Once he was settled, Kíli retreated to the chair at his bedside. He pulled off his boots and crossed his legs under him. It was a strange position, but Kíli seemed to find it comfortable, and Fíli had woken many times to find Kíli cross-legged at his bedside.

As his eyes slid shut off their own accord, Fíli tried to think of something to say; some parting words about bedtime stories or bed bugs to make Kíli smile… But he was asleep before the words came to him, and for the first time in weeks, Fíli dreamt of nothing at all.

* * *

Fíli's pipe froze at his lips as Dwalin, sitting at his side, turned around again to direct a hard glare at something, or someone, behind them. The footsteps receded as more curious dwarves reluctantly returned to their own fires. A week after his trek down to the vaults, Fíli had begun to grow restless, and had decided another outing was necessary… And it had been a very long time since he had last sat by the company's fire. Dwalin had initially been against it – for reasons made apparent during the meal they had just finished – but the company's overwhelming excitement at the prospect had swayed him, and so Fíli had joined them for supper.

Dwalin slowly turned back to the fire, cracking his tattooed knuckles, and muttered something about 'spies and busybodies'. Fíli took a long drag on his pipe, sensing that his nerves needed it; every time footsteps approached their fire his stomach clenched and his heartbeat sped up to a gallop.

"They don't mean any harm, Dwalin," Balin said, with a sigh, and then he looked to Fíli, his eyes twinkling. Balin's eyes had done nothing but twinkle all evening and he had been wearing a permanent smile… Fíli couldn't deny that it made him feel better.

"They've got no business bothering the lad whilst he's having his supper," Dwalin replied, glowering over at his brother.

"Well, then by all means swing your axe at the next dwarf who gets too close!" Balin said, throwing his hands up in frustration, and the rest of the company sniggered.

Fíli glanced across at Kíli, sitting at his other side, and the two shared a sly smile. Listening to Balin and Dwalin's bickering brought a warmth to Fíli's chest; a warmth fuelled by memories of their journey, and he couldn't begin to describe how much he had missed the company's fireside. With the Rivendell party supping at Thranduil's camp and Bilbo returned from one of Gandalf's enigmatic errands, a slight squint could make Fíli believe, if only for a second, that they were back on the road, still bound for the Lonely Mountain. But, of course, Bombur, Glóin, and Nori were en route back from the Blue Mountains, and even when they returned, their company would forever be missing one…

Thorin's absence was reflected in the eyes of every member of the company when they looked at Fíli, but he had chosen to persevere. He thought of the weeks he had spent confined to his tent at the foot of the Mountain, hearing from Kíli that Dwalin and Bilbo were suffering, that the company missed him… and he had done nothing. He was determined to make it up to them, and Estel's voice sounded in his head: _"…good kings try to rectify their mistakes."_ And so, despite his initial anxiety and the sickly feelings stirring in his stomach, Fíli had shared his first meal with the company by their fire in the Entrance Hall. There had been awkward jarrings in conversation and several morose silences that had threatened to bring on a lingering black mood, but Bofur and his unwavering optimism had always been on-hand to pull them back from the brink.

Fíli's gaze moved to Bofur now, and he watched him as he scrubbed their supper bowls clean in a basin of soapy water, before handing them to Bifur, who was standing ready with a tea towel – one of the many things Nori had _acquired_ from Bilbo's kitchen. Bifur had originally been quite confused by Fíli's appearance and became distressed, asking after Bombur repeatedly. It seemed that now Fíli, who had disappeared from the company for a time, had returned, Bifur believed that his cousin should have also returned with him. Bofur had managed to calm Bifur down, and then several times over supper Fíli had found Bifur studying him with an unnervingly knowing look. Fíli wasn't sure what it was that Bifur knew, but he guessed Bifur knew a lot more than anyone ever realised.

In the after-supper lull, the company were all engaged in various conversations and activities. Ori and Bilbo were collaborating on a new handicraft project which involved knitting a pair of mittens for everyone, now that winter was at the height if its power; Dori and Óin were in fact having a rather loud conversation about how cold it was. With Kíli speaking quietly to Balin, Fíli took the opportunity to carefully turn around and peer behind him at the camp set up in the Entrance Hall. He found several startled pairs of eyes looking at him, and the dwarves, after hasty bows, all darted back to their respective fires like frightened deer. Fíli swallowed, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs, but his eyes continued to scan the rows of tents until they came to rest on a tent, much larger than the rest, erected in the corner of the hall.

"What's in that big tent in the corner?" Fíli asked, his brow furrowed as he turned back to the fire.

"Oh, that's the infirmary, lad," came the answer from Balin, and all eyes moved to the large tent, which had once been known as the 'main tent' when the camp had first been set up before the Front Gate.

"Are there any patients left in there?" Fíli murmured, and his thoughts turned to Thorin's funeral, to the dwarves he had seen in the crowds, standing on crutches, with their heads bandaged and arms in slings. He remembered how, in the darkest of hours, it had brought him comfort that they had attended despite their injuries, and Fíli, sitting by the fire with his crutches at his side, still felt a strong affinity with them.

"Aye, not too many now, but a few," Balin replied, studying Fíli with a curious look, clearly wondering at his reasons for asking.

"I think I'd like to meet them," Fíli said. Estel's voice rang out in his head once again: "_You become a king when you start acting like one…"_ He reached for his crutches.

"Er, _now_?" Kíli said, a note of panic in his voice, and the company were all exchanging concerned glances.

"Oh… Is this a bad idea?" Fíli felt his cheeks colouring as he looked from Kíli to the rest of the company.

"No… We're just not sure The Grouch will take kindly to a casual drop-in from royalty," Dwalin explained, rather cryptically.

"But it has been an awfully long time since we last inconvenienced Grefur," Kíli pointed out, and when he turned to Fíli he was actually grinning. "So let's get you up."

* * *

'A casual drop-in from royalty' Dwalin had called it, and as Fíli arrived at the infirmary's entrance, he was starting to think this was not one of his better ideas. His palms, sticky with sweat, were slipping against the hand-grips of his crutches, and his heart was pumping painfully fast inside his chest. Despite the many creeping footsteps during supper, Fíli had still underestimated how much attention he would draw to himself by beginning to move through the camp. As he had weaved around the tents, flanked by Kíli and Dwalin, all the dwarves he passed had got to their feet and bowed, and now he daren't look around for fear of finding that they had all followed him to the infirmary. Although he supposed it was the dwarves who should be afraid as Dwalin had, much to Balin's chagrin, strapped Grasper to his back before they left the company's fire.

Dwalin held the tent's heavy door-flap open for him, and Fíli slowly entered with Kíli at his side. There were two rows of beds, lined up against opposite walls, but only two beds at the other end of the tent were actually occupied. There was a group of patients clustered around the furthest bed on the right-hand side, and a few healers were sitting at a table, at a diagonal from them in the tent's left corner. They all looked up when Fíli appeared and froze. With his instincts from Thorin's funeral kicking in, Fíli found himself moving forward down the path between the rows of beds, and the healers leapt up from the table, coming to meet him with gasps of "Your majesty!" Two of them gave short, awkward bows, but the third - a tall, bald healer with thick, black eyebrows – simply fixed Fíli with a look of scrutiny. Fíli recognised him as Grefur, the head-healer who had organised his move into the Mountain.

"Is everything all right, lad?" Grefur asked carefully. "You needn't have come here yourself, we could've sent someone."

With every pair of eyes in the tent boring into him, Fíli tried to formulate a response, but found his mind had drawn a blank. Everyone was looking at him expectantly and with an element of trepidation.

"Oh… I, er, I'm not here for myself," Fíli said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. He coughed to clear his raw throat, and turned to the group of patients on his right. "I'm just here to… to visit your patients." He attempted a smile, but the patients only stared back at him with varying expressions of shock and wonder.

"Uh, right," Grefur grunted, and he seemed distinctly unimpressed. The distasteful sideways glance he directed at his patients suggested he was unable to fathom why Fíli would want to do such a thing.

"Can we get you anything, your majesty?" the short, grey-haired healer standing behind Grefur asked, moving forward in an effort to alleviate the awkwardness.

Fíli winced when he heard the title for a second time, but forced himself to smile at the eager healer. "I'd be grateful for a chair," he replied quietly.

"Of course!" the healer said, seeming distraught at not having already thought of a chair. He quickly moved to retrieve one from the healers' table and set it down between the two occupied beds to their right.

Fíli slowly lowered himself into the chair and handed his crutches to Kíli, who came to stand at his side. Dwalin was no doubt standing behind them, showering the patients with pre-emptive glares. The white-haired dwarf, lying in the bed to Fíli's left, his hair barely distinguishable from the bandages wrapped tightly around his head, was asleep and snoring softly. But the younger dwarf, in the bed to his right, was propped up against his pillows and studying Fíli with a pair of alert blue eyes. Two other dwarves, with their crutches laid in their laps, were sitting at his bedside; the broad-shouldered, black-haired dwarf had a nasty, purple-red welt running across his forehead and the red-haired dwarf at his side had thick bandages wrapped around his chest, just visible in the 'v' of his loose shirt. Another red-haired dwarf was standing behind him, one arm in a sling, with his free hand resting on the back of his chair. They were all watching Fíli, their shock now reduced to something close to embarrassment as they waited for him to speak, and they wore identical, slightly uneasy smiles.

Inhaling deeply, Fíli found the strength to address them: "I just wanted to say thank you to you all… for attending Thorin's funeral. I… I know it must have been difficult for you to make it down to the vaults."

"Well, nothing was going to keep us away, laddie," the black-haired dwarf said, his voice low and deep. There was a murmur of agreement from the group. "We had to fair carry Gilin here between us, but we managed it, eh, Gil?" He slapped a hand on the blue-eyed dwarf propped up in the bed before him.

Gilin turned to Fíli and smiled meekly. "Your uncle was a truly great leader," he said, his eyes shining. "I'd be damned if a few cuts and bruises were going to stop me paying my respects."

At this mention of Thorin, Fíli's chest felt tight, and the ache returned to his stomach. He closed his fingers into a fist at his side so no one would notice they had begun to tremble, but then he felt Kíli's hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at his brother, and Kíli met his eyes with a small, encouraging smile.

"It was good to see you there, your majesty," the older, red-haired dwarf said, his voice quiet and sincere.

Fíli flinched again. "Fíli," he said softly, peering around at them, looking almost contrite. "Just Fíli is fine."

After an uneasy pause, the patients all nodded, a couple offering apologetic smiles. They then took this as a cue to begin introductions.

"Cáin, son of Caldun," the black-haired dwarf said, with another short nod.

Gilin spoke next: "Gilin, son of Filin… That's Grófi, son of Grafun behind you." He nodded to the white-haired dwarf in the next bed. "He sleeps through everything."

"Regin," said the seated red-haired dwarf.

"And Regur, sons of Róin," finished the younger dwarf, standing behind his brother. "I don't actually need to be in here, but the beds are far comfier than anywhere else in this camp."

"And I like having you around to pick the splinters out of my fingers," Regin said gruffly, patting the shoddy-looking crutches resting in his lap. "These useless things aren't even anywhere near my height."

"That's because they were the only pair left by the time you'd finally decided you _did_ want to get out of bed." Grefur's growl suddenly sounded from the healers' table and everyone jumped.

Fíli had no idea the head-healer had been listening to their conversation, but his comment had made Regin's cheeks colour considerably. Fíli stared at Regin and felt a rush of understanding… He knew how difficult those first steps out of bed were, and if it hadn't been for Estel, he was sure his crutches would still be leaning against a wall far from his bed.

"Crutches are taxing enough when they're the perfect size," Fíli said, giving Regin what he hoped was a comforting smile. "So I can't imagine what those must be like… But I can ask my friend Bofur to make you a new pair that are the right height." Fíli looked to Kíli for support.

"Bofur made Fíli's crutches in a few days… I'm sure he'd be happy to make you some too," Kíli said, beaming.

"That… That would be most kind," Regin said, looking from Kíli to Fíli, his voice swelling with emotion. "Thank you."

"And ignore The Grouch," Regur whispered to his brother. "He can be a spiteful git sometimes."

"But he's harmless really," Cáin added, with a smirk.

"You speak for yourself, lad," Gilin said wryly. "He's never given you a sponge-bath."

There was an eruption of laughter and snorting. Fíli couldn't help but find the patients' glee infectious and despite himself, he laughed along with them. He could hear Kíli sniggering at his side, and he couldn't imagine a more wonderful sound… There had been a moment, out on the battlefield, when he realised he couldn't remember the last time he had heard Kíli laugh, and he had been convinced he would never hear his brother laugh again. But here was Kíli, snorting with the others, and Fíli finally let himself embrace the release brought on by his talk with Estel down in the vaults. It wasn't all right, and it never quite would be, but for now he was laughing with his brother again, and this was healing. Fíli decided that coming to the infirmary had, in fact, been one of his better ideas.

* * *

"What?!"

Bilbo almost dropped his fork as the single, dagger-sharp syllable resounded around the tent. He dared to look up from his plate and found Thranduil glaring at Legolas down the table. Legolas only stared back defiantly. Bilbo wished Gandalf hadn't dragged him along to dine with the Elvenking, but he did sense that the wizard wanted the company. Kíli and Balin had specifically asked Gandalf not to interfere with Fíli's progress, and so he had found himself at a loose end, moving between Thranduil's camp by the river and Bard's newly established garrison in the ruins of Dale. Bilbo looked across at Gandalf, sitting opposite him, but the wizard didn't seem overly sorry that he had once again dropped Bilbo in the middle of one of Thranduil's arguments with his increasingly wayward son.

"I want to stay," Legolas repeated firmly, his blue eyes hard as he refused to shrink under his father's black stare.

"We are leaving as soon as the dwarves give us the payment they promised, and you will be coming with us," Thranduil snapped, and he made to return to his dinner.

"No."

Thranduil slammed his cutlery down on the table. "It is only going to get colder and our supplies are dwindling. What possible reasons do you have for staying?"

"I rode all the way to Rivendell and back to bring Estel here. I would like to at least witness the consequence of my journey," Legolas answered stoically.

"_Consequence_?" Thranduil said, arching an eyebrow. "You mean the boy's coronation?"

"Yes."

Thranduil's pale lips twisted into a snarl. "I will not have my son freeze to death at the foot of this Mountain just so he can watch the dwarves celebrate the return of their gold."

"The return of their king," Legolas corrected, sitting back in his chair.

Bilbo stole a glance at Gandalf and found the wizard was actually smiling, but he supposed he knew why: this was the first time he had heard anyone mention Fíli's coronation. The company generally avoided the subject, always treading carefully, but it was clear this was the unspoken, longed-for outcome of Fíli's recovery.

Thranduil seemed to be calculating how best he could injure his son with cutlery from a distance , when Legolas spoke again: "And I will not freeze to death. I have already been offered lodgings in the Mountain."

Suddenly Thranduil was on his feet… but then he stopped. A strange horn could be heard sounding in the distance, along with the tramping of feet. Thranduil and Legolas broke off their confrontation to share a look of confusion. Before anyone could ask the question, the Elvenking had turned away from the table and moved to the doors of the tent. Legolas rose slowly and went to join him. When Gandalf also left the table, Bilbo cautiously slid from his seat and followed in the wizard's wake.

Standing by the doors, a cold wind making his nose and the tips of his ears sting, Bilbo peered out into the landscape that was bleached with snow. Squinting his eyes, he could just make out a group of people moving towards the Mountain on the other side of the river. He glanced up at Thranduil and Legolas, and found that they were wearing matching expressions of confoundment. Bilbo guessed that their elf-eyes could see the approaching crowd far clearer than he could, and he wondered what it was that had baffled them.

"Those are very strange-looking dwarves," Legolas said finally, his bright blue eyes still fixed on the crowd.

"I think you will find, my dear Legolas," Gandalf said, smiling. "That those are dwarf women."

* * *

It was well-known in Middle Earth that dwarves were the most stubborn of all races, but what was less well-known was the fact that the dwarves' stubbornness was no match for the stubbornness of their women. When Dáin's camp had first received word from the Iron Hills, telling them that a group of dwarf women would be coming to the Mountain with supplies, great effort had been expended to discourage them from such a venture. They would not have them risking the cold and perilous journey in the heavy snows of mid-winter. But the women were adamant; they wanted to be reunited with their men, with their husbands, and sons, and brothers. And so they came anyway.

Kíli was sitting by the company's fire in the Entrance Hall when the shouts rose up and the slightly bedraggled group of dwarf women entered through the Front Gate. They all wore thick furs that were dusted white with snow and carried heavy packs, loaded with food, tools, and medicines. As they pulled down their hoods and shook off the snow, the crowd of women parted and another round of joyous shouts rose up all the louder… They had brought their children with them. A huddle of tiny dwarflings were standing at the centre of the group, having been protected there from the harsher elements. On closer inspection, Kíli realised that some of the packs the women were clutching to their chests were not supplies, but babies, thickly swaddled in brown fur.

Getting to his feet, Kíli watched as dwarves began to rush from their fires and their tents with ecstatic cries. They ran to meet their women and, with shouts of "Papa!" and "Father!", found themselves set upon by the group of gleeful children. One dwarf was almost tackled to the ground by his two sons who pounced on him before he even managed to get near their mother. Seeing families reunited, relieved and embracing before his eyes brought a lump to Kíli's throat… and part of him sorely wished his own mother had just entered through the Front Gate. But he knew she would arrive in time, and so he contented himself with watching other mothers having their sons returned safely to them.

The children's laughter and avid chattering filled the Entrance Hall, and as they pulled on their fathers' braids and sucked their thumbs, they all peered around the Mountain with wide, awestruck eyes. This was their first glimpse of Erebor; their past, and their future. And Kíli realised then that Thorin had achieved all that he had wanted and more. He had brought the children of Durin home.

* * *

**A/N: I tried really hard not to make anyone cry with this chapter. So… how did I do?**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so, so much for your wonderful response to Chapter Thirteen! Sorry for the delayed posting of this chapter, but I had my first teaching placement last week so I didn't really have a second to myself. I was supposed to be working with sixth graders, but because of a staffing mix-up I ended up teaching Reception (British kindergarten), and this may have inspired some of Chapter Fourteen. (And seriously, you have no idea how many times I had to do Gandalf-style counting!) So yes, all ye with weak ovaries be warned – this chapter involves Fíli and Kíli getting fussed over by some very cute and chubby dwarflings! But it's come to my attention that I still managed to make at least five readers cry with the last chapter, so I thought I owed you all a bit of fluff…**

* * *

"And visiting the infirmary was his idea?" Estel asked, with an eager smile.

"Aye, and we ended up staying the whole evening – until Grefur threw us out," Kíli replied, unable to stop the smile creeping onto his own lips.

Estel's grin only widened as he turned to Arwen, and the smile was spread around the company's fireside. Although Fíli's visit to the infirmary had been several days ago, this was the first opportunity Kíli had found to sit and discuss it with Estel and the Rivendell party. Arwen was sitting at Estel's side, obviously as keen as he was to hear the full story. Elladan and Elrohir were not too far away, and were being shown how to properly peel potatoes by Bifur. With Bofur still busy putting the finishing touches on Regin's crutches, Arwen had volunteered her brothers to help with dinner. Kíli suspected she would do anything to stop them sulking over Tauriel's imminent departure.

"How did the patients react to your visit?" Estel continued, and the bright look in his grey eyes implied he had a host of further questions.

"Everyone in the tent was fairly stunned by our arrival," Kíli mused. "But once they got over their shock they were very welcoming. Fíli let the patients do most of the talking. I think he was just happy to listen."

Estel nodded, exchanging another jubilant glance with Arwen.

Kíli let his thoughts wander over their visit to the infirmary, but he once again found them snagging on one niggling detail. "Fíli didn't like the patients and healers calling him 'your majesty'," he murmured, biting his lip at the prospect of dampening Estel's mood.

"He said so?" Estel asked, furrowing his brow.

"No," Kíli conceded. "But he did ask them to call him 'Fíli'."

Estel rocked back in his seat, his hand reaching up to scratch at his dark stubble. "Fíli's acceptance of his new role was never going to happen overnight," he said finally. "It will happen in stages as he takes the time to adjust. Visiting the infirmary was a very big step and I think he only wished to make himself a little more comfortable."

Kíli smiled; Estel was right, of course. He was about to comment, when Estel added: "But he may have also been putting himself on a par with his subjects, and that is a very admirable attribute in a king."

Relieved, Kíli decided he would encourage the thought. Their attentions then turned to the more pressing matter: dinner. Bifur had begun reprimanding Elrohir in sharp gutturals because he had peeled his potato so thickly there was barely any potato left. Kíli, Estel, and Arwen turned to watch, all wearing the same amused smirk.

"Evening, brother!"

Kíli's eyes darted away from Bifur and Elrohir when he heard Dwalin's greeting. He looked to his right and found Balin entering the hall through the east archway. Dwalin usually waited until Balin had reached the fireside before beginning baiting his brother about his involvement in Dáin's council meetings, but he seemed especially eager that evening. Balin approached the company's fire with a noticeably fatigued step, and Kíli realised he had been gone all afternoon.

The white-haired dwarf was suddenly stopped in his tracks as a tiny wooden wagon rolled into his path off its own accord. It was then followed by an equally tiny, red-haired dwarfling who quickly waddled up to retrieve his toy. Balin smiled down good-naturedly at him, and the dwarfling stared back for a few moments before grabbing hold of the wagon and toddling off with it. The arrival of the women and children a few days ago had put the whole camp in a good mood, but as the dwarfling disappeared and Balin arrived at the fireside, a look caught somewhere between weariness and annoyance returned to his face.

"Evening all," Balin said, giving Arwen a gracious nod and pointedly ignoring his younger brother.

"Do you mind if I ask what Dáin's councillors have done now?" Kíli said, before Dwalin could launch into his scripted antagonism.

Balin sat down next to Bofur with a sigh. For a moment Kíli thought he was going to deny there was a problem, but then he answered: "Let's just say they have changed their tactics considerably."

Kíli gave Estel a concerned sideways glance, and all around the fireside turned to Balin, waiting for him to elaborate.

"It's always in the councillors' best interests to know which way the wind is blowing," Balin said quietly. "And now they've decided that if they can't be on the new king's council, they can at least become his in-laws."

Kíli raised an eyebrow, uncertain what Balin was implying, but Estel made a strange coughing noise at his side.

"I've received five different proposals of marriage for Fíli this afternoon," Balin explained, his brown eyes fixed on Kíli. "The councillors are going to start falling over each other trying to offer him their daughters and granddaughters."

"What?!" Kíli spluttered in disbelief, his eyes widening.

_Marriage proposals_? _Now_? The thought had never occurred to him. And he supposed this was because the thought of a wife had never really occurred to either him or Fíli. When some of their friends started courting a few years ago, they had been too focused on their training to follow suit. And then Kíli realised, for the first time, that it probably also had something to do with the fact that Thorin had never married. He was well aware of the fact that he and Fíli had been modelling themselves on their uncle… and that thought suddenly made his chest ache as the throb of grief returned.

"I don't want those councillors or their kin anywhere near Fíli," Kíli growled, his fingers curling into fists. The idea of Fíli marrying a relative of Agrór or Nordul made him feel physically sick. With anger burning in the pit of his stomach, Kíli's gaze moved back to Balin and he sensed the older dwarf hadn't yet told him everything.

"I, er, may have received a couple of proposals for you as well, lad," Balin said reluctantly.

Kíli froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He sincerely hoped this was a joke, but Balin's contrite expression told him otherwise. What was wrong with these councillors? And where in Durin's name did they find the nerve to make such proposals after all they had done?

Suddenly Dwalin, who had so far been silent, was on his feet. "Right, I'm off to kill them all," he said matter-of-factly, seizing his war-hammer.

"Dwalin, sit down!" Balin snapped.

When Dwalin didn't react, Kíli called to him across the fire: "Dwalin, please don't bother… They're not worth the effort it would take to kill them." His fingers were still bunched into fists.

With a grunt of acquiescence, Dwalin dropped back down onto his bench by the fire, though he kept hold of his war-hammer.

"I don't want Fíli knowing about this," Kíli said firmly, and he looked to Estel, as if for confirmation that this was the wisest decision. Estel nodded, but didn't comment. "Marriage is… the last thing on his mind at the moment."

There was a murmur of agreement and Balin lowered his head in assent. Kíli sat back in his seat, his mind reeling as he tried to process this development. Of course, he was angry for Fíli's sake, and it had taken a good deal of strength to talk Dwalin out of his massacre instead of joining him, but then something else occurred to him and he slowly unfurled his fingers.

"They've been so quick to abandon Dáin," Kíli said, surprised that he actually found himself feeling sorry for his cousin. "They've shown no loyalty at all."

"These councillors are fickle. They will go wherever they think the power lies," Estel observed quietly, and was met with more whispered words of agreement.

Kíli's sadness for Dáin, bordering on pity, remained… but he also couldn't help the sly smile that was tugging at one corner of his mouth. If Dáin's councillors really were jumping ship, this could only mean that the people's acceptance of Fíli as their king was complete. They would have no other King Under the Mountain, and surely that was something to smile about.

* * *

Unlike their visit to the infirmary, Fíli and Kíli thought it would be best to give the women and children some forewarning before they came to the nursery. Although Grefur the Grouch was indeed formidable, the brothers sensed that the dwarrowdams would be a force to be reckoned with if they showed up unannounced. Within days of their arrival, the women had thrown themselves into helping with the clearing and rebuilding effort. Their first port of call, however, had been scolding their men for the way they had been eating for the past few months. It transpired that the majority of Dáin's men did not possess Bofur's culinary talents, and so their wives quickly set about teaching them a thing or two about cooking with limited supplies. After this had been dealt with, their attentions turned to longer term prospects and they had established a fully-functioning nursery in one of the smaller, newly-cleared out halls to the east of the Entrance Hall.

Visiting the nursery had also been Fíli's idea. Kíli had told him all about the dwarrowdams' wondrous arrival and how very little had been able to tarnish the camp's mood since. Fíli knew this was most likely due to the unexpected but most welcome addition of the dwarflings who had travelled with their mothers. He couldn't deny that he was eager to meet them; dwarf children were a real rarity and having so many in one place was almost unheard of. But Estel had offered a few words of caution, urging Fíli to recognise that his visit to the nursery wouldn't quite be the same as his visit to the infirmary. His audience was going to be very different: _"Remember the naivety of innocence. These children will be curious and they will speak their minds. They will ask questions and you must be ready to answer them."_

Fíli knew Estel was right to be wary, and he had spent the night before their visit playing out several ominous situations of confrontation in his head, and had therefore slept fitfully. But he was also no stranger to dealing with dwarflings. Back in the Blue Mountains, Fíli had always been the oldest child in their circle of family and friends, and had frequently found himself in charge of Kíli and Ori, and then Gimli too. He was sure nothing could match the terror of that trio - though he was soon to find out.

Arriving at the doors of the nursery, the sound of laughter, shrieking, and some wails filtered out into the corridor, and Fíli came to a stop, his fingers flexing around the hand-grips of his crutches. His palms were sweaty again and his stomach kept twisting in on itself. He swallowed to try and relieve his dry throat, then looked to Kíli, standing at his side. Kíli gave an encouraging nod then grinned, unable to mask his excitement. He had been giddy all morning. Dwalin, as usual, was standing at his other side, but this time they were also joined by Estel and Arwen. Having missed the dwarrowdams' arrival and Fíli's visit to the infirmary, they weren't going to miss this.

Dwalin and Estel carefully pushed the scarred wooden doors open, and Fíli slowly made his way into the hall. A hush immediately fell over the inhabitants and Fíli paused; this was the first time he had been confronted with a crowd of people since Thorin's funeral, and his heart began a frantic drumming against his ribs. The only sound was the crackle of the fires that burned at each end of the hall, and Fíli couldn't believe the silence of the children before him. He was met by two slightly untidy rows of dwarflings, standing before the cluster of dwarrowdams. The dwarflings all stared up at him with wide eyes, and there were many tiny mouths hanging open. Fíli could see that there were also other children, peering out at him shyly from behind their mothers' skirts, and those who were too young to stand were being balanced on hips.

And then, as with Thorin's funeral, a silent cue was given and the women all bowed, most bending their knees in a form of curtsy as they lowered their heads. The dwarflings, turning to look behind them, then followed their mothers' example. Their bows were far from synchronised, but they were done with great care that suggested a fair amount of practice had gone into them. Some dwarflings bowed more than once until they were satisfied that they had done it perfectly and others were showing their less confident brothers and sisters and friends how it should be done. Fíli wasn't surprised when he found himself grinning. The warmth that he had felt by the company's fire and in the infirmary was now magnified, radiating out of his chest to his entire body. He turned to Kíli, and Kíli grinned gleefully back at him. Dwalin, however, seemed thoroughly unnerved by this more than adorable display. Unsure of how to react, he clearly needed to go and kill something in the near future to make up for what he had just witnessed. But he would have to wait to collect his weapons; Fíli had told him quite sternly that under no circumstances should he come to the nursery armed.

After several minutes, the children finally exhausted themselves and Fíli moved to the chair already put out for him by the fire at one end of the hall. The two rows were dispersed as children returned to their mothers or followed Fíli to his chair. The dwarrowdams' eyes followed Fíli as he moved down the room, but it wasn't lost on anyone that their gazes also kept flitting to Estel and Arwen. The children gave these two visitors a noticeably wide berth, gawking at them with both interest and confusion. The women, however, were looking over with scrutiny and suspicion. They had been told, of course, that Thorin Oakenshield's heirs were entertaining a strange group of elves and a man in the Mountain, but most were yet to decide exactly how they felt about that.

Fíli had only just handed his crutches to Kíli when a rather chubby dwarfling with a mop of dark brown hair suddenly rushed up to him and started trying to climb into his lap. The child could have been little more than two years old, and this was most likely an instinctive reaction to seeing an adult sitting down; knees were meant to be sat on, no matter whose knee it was. Momentarily stunned, Fíli regained himself just in time to catch hold of the dwarfling before he fell back to the floor. Kíli dropped Fíli's crutches and grabbed one of the child's pudgy arms, helping him onto Fíli's knee.

"Tobi!"

A young, dark-haired dwarrowdam appeared from the back of the crowd of mothers and hurried forward looking flushed and flustered. A few strands of brown-black hair came loose from her braids and fell into her face. She hastily tried to tuck them behind her ears, but the strands kept getting caught in her silver piercings, and so she gave up and arrived in front of Fíli looking slightly bedraggled.

"I'm so sorry, your majesty!" she cried, and reached out to retrieve the escaped Tobi.

Tobi let out an angry squeal as her hand closed around his arm and recoiled into Fíli's chest, one plump fist grasping the fur of his coat.

"Oh, he's all right," Fíli said, smiling up at the frustrated dwarrowdam. "You can leave him be for a while."

The dwarrowdam studied Fíli with an expression he couldn't place for a few moments, but then, after a nod of consent, she reluctantly retreated back into the crowd of women. Fíli noted that the look in her eyes as she fixed Tobi with a hard stare told the little dwarfling just how much trouble he was going to be in later. Tobi, however, appeared unfazed and stared up at Fíli, transfixed, with enormous brown eyes. He then began swatting at one of Fíli's moustache braids like a cat enchanted by a piece of string, and Fíli realised what had made Tobi's eyes so wide. But he quickly lost interest and then, jamming a thumb in his mouth, snuggled into the fur of Fíli's coat.

Keeping Tobi balanced on his knee with an arm wrapped around his back, Fíli turned to Kíli, expecting to receive another wide grin, but instead found his brother facing a similar conundrum. An impossibly small dwarfling with tiny curls of red hair bouncing about her face was standing in front of Kíli with her arms raised above her head, desperate to be picked up. She rocked up onto her tiptoes and reached for Kíli. Kíli scanned the crowd of dwarrowdams, waiting for a mother to protest, but when no protest came, he eagerly scooped the dwarfling up into his arms, balancing her on his hip. He turned to Fíli then and the expected grin appeared. The little red-haired child leant her head against Kíli's chest and her fingers curled around the edge of his coat. She studied Fíli with bright blue eyes, barely blinking.

"And what's your name?" Kíli asked, peering down at her.

"Elís."

The answer didn't come from Elís herself, but from the crowd of women. Fíli turned away from Kíli to see that a young dwarrowdam had stepped forward, shadowed by two others who wore expressions of concern. She was undoubtedly Elís' mother; she had her daughter's fiery red hair and blue eyes. Fíli wondered why she hadn't come forward before, and then he realised she was wearing black. Her face was worryingly pale and one of the dwarrowdams at her side had put a hand on her shoulder.

"You look a little like her father," she said quietly to Kíli, her voice cracking.

Kíli stared at her and Fíli saw the moment when realisation dawned on his face. Elís had not been able to run to her father like the other children when she arrived in Erebor. Kíli held her a little tighter, screwing up his eyes as he rested his chin on her soft, red hair. Fíli knew what was going through his brother's mind and it made a lump rise in his throat. Just like Kíli, Elís would never remember her father.

Fíli tore his eyes away from Kíli and turned to Elís' mother. He found himself looking at a mirror for his grief and his heart ached for her. The pain of losing Thorin flared up in his chest, but he fought through the burning and the sickness in his stomach to meet this young dwarrowdam's gaze. Their blue eyes locked onto each other for a moment, and Fíli hoped he managed to communicate just how sorry he was for her loss. He then scanned the group of women and their children, knowing he should say something to them. As they had been united in Erebor, they were also united in grief and mourning… and they needed their king.

Tobi had fallen asleep in his lap, and Fíli shifted him a little closer to his chest, being careful not to wake him. He then turned back to the crowd. Opening his mouth, he barely had time to finish his first word before another, slightly shrill voice cut across him: "What's wrong with your leg?"

Fíli's attentions moved away from the dwarrowdams to the collection of dwarflings that had assembled before his chair. They were sitting in front of him with their legs crossed, all staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Fíli wasn't sure which child had asked the question, and so his eyes moved over all of them as he managed a smile, trying to push his black thoughts away.

"I broke it," he answered softly. "That's why I've got all these bandages. They're going to help it get better."

"I broked my arm last year!" a tawny-haired dwarfling shouted out, rising onto his knees and beaming at Fíli.

"Oh no, how did you break your arm?" Fíli asked, pretending to look shocked.

"I climbed onto the table to steal a scone when Mama wasn't looking and I fell off!" the dwarfling replied. "But that's a secret!"

"In that case, I promise I won't tell anyone," Fíli grinned, and there was a titter from the dwarrowdams.

Fíli stole a glance at Kíli. He was gently rocking Elís and murmuring something into her hair. She had relaxed her grip on his coat and, although her blue eyes were still open, they were clouded and sleepy. Fíli knew he and Kíli would have a few things to talk about when they returned to their room.

"Mister King!"

Fíli's eyes darted away from Kíli as his heart jolted. _Mister King_. It wasn't exactly an official title… But it was the first time he had been addressed with 'King', and his stomach clenched in protest. His gaze moved to Estel, who had clearly expected his anxiety and met him with a smile of encouragement. Sucking in a deep breath, Fíli searched out the source of the call, and realised it had come from the tiniest dwarfling of the group who was sitting almost at his boots. He leaned forward to see him, careful to keep a firm hold of the sleeping Tobi and stop him slipping from his knee.

Before Fíli could respond, the child sitting behind the miniscule dwarfling gave his shoulder a bump. She was clearly the oldest child of the group and there were the dark beginnings of a beard appearing at her temples. "What did I tell you, Hàri? It's 'your majesty', not 'Mister King'!"

Hàri's lip began to tremble and he looked up at Fíli with watery eyes, obviously terrified of the wrath his mistake would incur. But Fíli inhaled deeply and smiled down at him. "It's all right, Hàri," he whispered. "I also answer to 'Mister King'… What can I do for you?"

"How… How did…" Hàri struggled with his words, his brow furrowed in concentration. "How did… you hurted your leg?"

Fíli froze. He knew this question was coming. He had lain awake in the early hours of that morning, endlessly going over scenarios involving such a question… but he still wasn't sure how to answer.

"My da says you fought the Pale Orc!" came a shout from a black-haired dwarfling.

"Mikil!" A dwarrowdam stepped forward to admonish her son with a stern glare.

Mikil only stared down his mother, then turned back to Fíli. "Is it true? …Is it true you killed him?"

Fíli's heart was rampaging against his ribs and he fought to keep his mind in the room, away from the battlefield, but he could feel himself beginning to sweat. And then Kíli moved to his side. Keeping hold of Elís with one hand, he placed the other on Fíli's shoulder, just as he had done in the infirmary. Feeling his body slowly relax under his brother's hand, Fíli turned his attention to Mikil, who was studying him with nothing more than innocent curiosity. Mikil was too young to think that war was anything but a game to be played, like any other. And so Fíli, after swallowing to prevent his voice from cracking, answered him honestly: "Your da is right… and it is true."

Mikil's eyes lit up. He turned to the dwarfling sitting at his side and the two began to whisper excitedly.

"You killed the Pale Orc even though you broked your leg?" the tawny dwarfling who had broken his arm asked eagerly.

Fíli nodded, giving the dwarfling a small smile.

"Then you're a hero!" the dwarfling proclaimed assuredly. "Mama says it's heroes who keep fighting even when they're hurt!"

Fíli had no idea how to reply. His eyes began to sting and he had to blink back the tears as the dwarflings before him all cried out their agreement and nodded vigorously. They were staring at him with even more reverence than before and the warmth Fíli had felt in his chest on entering the nursery returned. Peering around at the children, he beamed. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to thank them enough.

The children were permitted another twenty minutes of questions before their mothers intervened and sent them off to other tasks. Fíli wondered if it was simply maternal intuition, but they seemed to sense when he was beginning to tire. Of course, he would have happily braved another few hours of questioning, for as long as the dwarflings remained curious, but he couldn't deny he was slightly relieved when the tiny crowd before him was dispersed. His voice had grown hoarse from talking and there was a tell-tale throbbing just above his right eye which foreshadowed a headache that only sleep could cure. Yet, this couldn't dampen his spirits and he now found himself partaking in the camp's general good mood created by the dwarrowdams and their children.

With Tobi still asleep in his lap, Fíli turned to see Kíli carefully transferring Elís to her mother's waiting arms. The little dwarfling stirred as her head met her mother's shoulder, but didn't wake. Kíli began murmuring to the red-haired dwarrowdam, his dark brow furrowed, and he was speaking so softly that Fíli could barely make out his words. It was then that Fíli realised just how proud of his little brother he was… and how much Kíli had grown up since they left the Blue Mountains. Although it earned him a painful throb in his chest, at that moment Fíli still wished that Thorin could see Kíli now. His gaze moved away to Estel and Arwen, who had also been watching Kíli. Estel caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile.

Fíli turned back to face the group of women and almost jumped out of his skin. The young, dark-haired dwarrowdam who had unsuccessfully tried to retrieve Tobi earlier was standing right in front of him. On seeing Fíli's surprise, her face coloured considerably, darkening the brown freckles on her cheeks. Fíli regained himself and smiled up at her, gently rubbing Tobi's shoulder to rouse him. The tubby dwarfling wriggled in Fíli's lap and gave a soft yawn. He peered up at Fíli with a sleepy smile, but as soon as he felt someone else begin to reach for him he let out a shriek.

"No!"

"That's the only word he knows," the dwarrowdam sighed, trying to grab Tobi's hands so he couldn't latch onto Fíli's coat.

"Come now, Tobi. Be a good lad and go with your mother," Fíli said, ruffling Tobi's mop of dark brown hair. Tobi stopped struggling and blinked up at Fíli. Fíli hadn't been aware until that moment that a two-year-old could raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm not his mother," the dwarrowdam explained, seizing this moment of Tobi's distraction to heave him into her arms. "He's my nephew. And my sister's going to have my beard!"

"I think you were very well-behaved, weren't you, Tobi?" Fíli said, winking at the chubby dwarfling.

"Don't you encourage him!" the dwarrowdam grinned.

But then she froze, her cheeks going even redder, and Fíli realised she thought she had spoken out of turn. He hated the idea that anyone would be afraid to speak to him normally – as an equal – but he wasn't sure what to say to rectify this new and unnerving situation.

"Right, I need to get you back to your ma and da in the infirmary, don't I?" the dwarrowdam spoke to Tobi, avoiding Fíli's eye. "Wave goodbye, Tobi."

Tobi barely had time to raise a hand before the dwarrowdam set off back down the hall to the door, as if she couldn't wait to get away. Fíli stared after her, only wishing he could have thought of something to say to ease her embarrassment. A few moments after she and Tobi had disappeared from the room, he turned to find Kíli grinning slyly at him. It was a look he hadn't seen in a long time.

"What?" Fíli sighed.

Kíli raised a suggestive eyebrow. Fíli was about snap back with a less-than-witty retort when two dwarrowdams approached his chair, one of them holding a large wicker basket.

"Excuse me, you majesty," the taller of the two murmured. "We just wanted to give you this." She indicated the basket her companion was holding. "It's not much… Just a few things we've managed to cobble together between us all."

"For you and your company," the dwarrowdam holding the basket explained, looking from Fíli to Kíli, who had come to his side. "There's herbs and spices, some food for your fire, blankets, cloth, and good needles and thread too."

The shorter dwarrowdam held the basket out for Kíli and he took it with a grateful smile. The two brothers were stunned into silence for a moment, but then Fíli said: "Thank you… that's very kind of you all. Please make sure you thank everyone who has spared what they can."

"We will… But it's us who should be thanking you," one dwarrowdam said quietly, with a smile.

"This is the least we could do to say thank you for all you've done," the other agreed. "To say thank you for bringing us here… For letting us come home."

* * *

Fíli gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering as the cold wind whipped at his face, making the beads of his moustache braids bump against his chin. Thranduil was late. Fíli supposed that after the Elvenking's dramatically tardy arrival at Thorin's funeral, he shouldn't have expected anything else. They were all gathered outside the Front Gate, waiting to farewell the elves of Mirkwood and hand over their requested payment. There had been much dispute over how much gold should be paid in total and Thranduil, despite his endless complaining about the delays, rejected the dwarves' compromises several times. Eventually Bard intervened and offered Thranduil the emeralds of Girion on top of the proposed amount of gold, and the matter was settled.

Fíli was at the centre of the assembled party, a thick, grey fur overcoat wrapped around his shoulders. He was flanked by Kíli on one side and Dwalin and Balin on the other. Dàin stood off to his left, speaking quietly to the two dwarves who were holding Thranduil's chest of gold. This was the first time Fíli had seen his cousin since Thorin's funeral, and although Dàin was pleasant enough to him, he still carried a strange air of disappointment… but Fíli guessed he understood why. What he really couldn't fathom was the bizarre behaviour of the councillors who were standing behind Dàin. They kept looking over at him eagerly... almost expectantly. What was worse was that they kept smiling – an action which clearly didn't suit their usually dour faces and made their expressions beyond unnerving. They were obviously up to something. He would have to ask Kíli and Balin about it.

Gandalf, Bilbo, and the rest of the company were standing to Fíli's right. Gandalf also kept smiling over at him, but it was a warm, good-natured smile which Fíli knew to be completely genuine. The wizard's blue eyes were alight with a knowing twinkle and Fíli realised he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to Gandalf. Something he would have to rectify in the near future. Standing behind the company were Estel, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas. Legolas had appeared in the Entrance Hall that morning, having already said his farewells. Fíli gathered that the Elven prince's early arrival had something to do with another argument with his father, and a threat that if he didn't leave at that instant he would either be entirely disowned or tied to a horse and dragged back to Mirkwood. Legolas and Estel were now sharing another room on the guard corridor which Estel, Kíli, and the twins had been clearing out all week in preparation for the arrival of Erebor's latest Elven lodger.

"Are you all right?" Kíli murmured, glancing across at Fíli.

After this prolonged period of waiting, Fíli's arms were beginning to ache and the cold meant he could no longer feel his fingers wrapped around the hand-grips of his crutches. At least it's not snowing, Fíli thought as he looked back at Kíli. "I'm fine," he whispered.

"I could get you a chair?" Kíli offered.

Fíli shook his head. He was determined to farewell Thranduil standing on his own two feet, albeit with the support of his crutches. Maybe it was the memory of all those wretched days he had spent consumed with grief and confined to his bed that had made him self-conscious, but Fíli knew part of him really didn't want to show any weakness in front of Dàin, his councillors, or the Elvenking himself. With this thought, he turned his eyes back to the colourless horizon and his heart jolted. His gaze had been wandering around those gathered at the Front Gate for so long that he hadn't realised the tents of Thranduil's camp across the river had vanished, leaving only a few black wisps of smoke rising from extinguished fires. The Elvenking was finally on the move, and Fíli could just make out the brown and green blur of his army moving along the river, towards the Front Gate.

An age seemed to pass, but finally Thranduil came into view, sitting astride his enormous elk whilst his men marched on foot behind him. His army came to a stop and the Elvenking let his elk take a few graceful strides closer to the group assembled before the Gate. Fíli wondered if he was going to dismount, but Thraduil stayed put, his intense green gaze moving slowly over every member of the farewell party… until his eyes came to rest on Legolas and his gaze hardened into a glare. Fíli dared to look behind him to watch for Legolas's reaction. The prince was standing a little behind Estel, as if for protection, but he still stared back at his father without flinching. It was then that Dwalin let out an impatient cough.

Thranduil's eyes snapped back to the dwarves directly in front of him. "You have the payment I requested?" he asked, his voice deep and cold.

Fíli and Dàin nodded simultaneously to the two dwarves holding the chest and they reluctantly brought it forward. Without signal from Thranduil, two elves broke from the ranks behind him and collected the chest, carrying it between them.

Fíli then took a step forward and straightened up, meeting Thranduil's gaze. Inhaling deeply and feeling his heart pounding in his chest, he spoke clearly and loudly over the wind: "We hope this is a worthy token of our appreciation for the help offered by the forces of Mirkwood in our time of need. My kin and I are eternally grateful for your support and your part in the reclaiming of our homeland."

Fíli paused to take a breath, attempting to ignore Thranduil's look of suspicion. He had been rehearsing this speech all morning, reciting it to both Kíli and Estel, and was now trying to remember all the suggested changes… but his mind threatened to draw a blank.

"We wish you all a safe return journey to your own lands," Fíli continued, managing a smile, which only seemed to confuse Thranduil more. "And should you ever need our help, we will always be willing to return the favour. From this day forward, I hope we can maintain a fruitful and prosperous alliance between Erebor and the Woodland Realm."

Fíli finished, sucking in a deep breath, beyond relieved that he hadn't stumbled over his words. Despite the cold, he could feel beads of sweat forming at his temples. His blue eyes were fixed on Thranduil for his reaction, and his heart continued its manic gallop inside his chest.

Thranduil tilted his head to the side as he studied Fíli, and when he spoke his voice was softer, almost amused: "You are a very strange dwarf, Fíli Oakenshield."

Fíli's heart dropped into his stomach. _Fíli Oakenshield?_ He stared at Thranduil with wide eyes, and all he could hear was wind roaring in his ears… and then Thorin's voice came to him: _"The shield… Don't let them bury me with it… It's yours now…" _Fíli dragged his mind away from the battlefield, back to the present, and the tension hit him like a collapsing mine-shaft. Kíli and Dwalin were glaring at Thranduil, and Fíli had never seen his brother so livid. This sparked the realisation that although this was the first time Fíli had heard his epithet, it wasn't new to Kíli. Fighting to keep his thoughts from growing dark, Fíli still found his mind retreating back into the Mountain, to Thrór's bedchamber, where Thorin's oak shield lay on a piece of folded cloth in the corner of the room. Gritting his teeth, Fíli once again tore his attentions back to the present and peered up at Thranduil, trying to relax his expression. The Elvenking was clearly aware of his faux-pas, but his face remained stoical. Fíli did note, however, that his eyes were not as cold as before.

"I shall look forward to your envoys," Thranduil said, and, surprisingly, if there was any irony in his voice, Fíli couldn't detect it.

Barely daring to breathe, he waited to see if Thranduil would continue, but after one long moment, the Elvenking simply turned away, pulling on his elk's reins to steer it towards the western trail. Everyone gathered before the Front Gate watched in silence as Thranduil and his army slowly disappeared over the brow of the slope to the right of the Mountain. Fíli stared after them, knowing it was Kíli's hand that had come to rest on his shoulder, and he heard only two words resounding in his head… _Fíli Oakenshield_.

* * *

As the elves of Mirkwood began their journey home, passing swiftly through the snow-covered, but still scorched lands of Smaug's desolation, they remained unaware that they were being watched from a clump of blackened trees. Four ponies waited there, and they belonged to Bombur, Nori, Glóin, and Dís, daughter of Thràin.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter just refused to end… sorry about that! Now, Dís is a new character for me and as I know so many of you are excited for her arrival, I don't want to disappoint. So please do send me your Dís headcanons and let me know if there's anyone in particular you'd like her to interact with apart from her boys! **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you so much for your amazing response to Chapter Fourteen, and for sending me all your Dís headcanons/suggestions. They've been an enormous help and I should hopefully be able to incorporate all your proposed interactions into the next couple of chapters. **

**PLEASE READ: Don't worry, it's nothing too catastrophic! I just wanted to warn you all that there are actually only a few chapters left of 'Bring Them Home'. The fic has always had a very fixed end-point in my mind (and many of you have guessed what that is already) and it's the conclusion I've always been working towards. However, I will admit that I have created an AU timeline for 'Bring Them Home' which extends well into the Fourth Age, so if, after the end of the fic, anyone is curious about who Fíli and Kíli marry and how their children fare, please do drop me a PM and I'll happily ramble on about my headcanons. Alternatively, if people are interested, I could post a timeline as an appendix after the final chapter. **

**Soulfert: Thank you so much for reading! Unfortunately the site has deleted your email address from your comment, so maybe try sending it again using spaces or brackets? (e.g. email. address at (Yahoo) . com) **

**Right, that was a ridiculously long Author's Note! Now, I think it's about time Dís was reunited with her boys…**

* * *

As soon as Kíli stepped through the west archway, all eyes around the company's fire darted up to meet his own. Most were filled with variants of concern and anxiety, but Legolas' blue gaze was also tinged with guilt. Kíli tried to avoid the blonde elf's eye as he approached the fire and settled next to Dwalin and Ori.

"How is he?" Estel asked finally, after a tense moment of silence.

"Still a little shaken," Kíli admitted. "He just needs some time to… process everything."

There were nods and murmurings from all present, mingled with a few vengeful mutters, which Kíli guessed came from Dwalin to his right. Fíli had been very quiet as they returned into the Mountain and made the journey to their room on the upper corridor. He hadn't said a word about Thranduil's revelation, but Kíli always knew it was going to be difficult for Fíli to come to terms with his new epithet. Maybe that was why he had taken such great pains to ensure his brother didn't hear it until he was ready… and he had always envisioned himself to be the one to tell him. He resented the fact that Thranduil had beaten him to it.

"My father did not mean any harm," Legolas said suddenly, and Kíli looked up to find the elf watching him intently.

Kíli felt his stomach clench, and there was a noticeable frostiness in the air despite the fire's usually friendly glow. He knew Thranduil's blunder, intentional or not, wasn't his son's fault. He also knew they owed Legolas an awful lot, and dreaded to think what might have happened if the prince hadn't offered to ride to Rivendell. But still he wondered why Legolas was defending the father who had threatened to disown him more than once that week. Unsure of how to reply, Kíli looked to Gandalf, hoping the wizard would be able to do something to ease the tension.

However, before Gandalf could intervene, Dwalin was cracking his tattooed knuckles. "Didn't mean any harm?" he growled. "No, he just enjoys causing chaos and leaving others to clear up his mess."

"It wasn't his place to address Fíli like that," Dori agreed, narrowing his eyes at Legolas across the fire.

Legolas paled slightly under Dwalin and Dori's black glares, and his blue eyes flitted to Estel in a split-second moment of panic. Kíli reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose; it was the perfect imitation of his mother when he and Fíli were making a nuisance of themselves. He knew the two older dwarves had done their best to behave cordially towards the Rivendell party, but now it seemed Legolas was one elf too many and Dwalin and Dori's patience was being pushed to the limit.

"Thranduil does have a penchant for theatrics," Gandalf said calmly, peering around the extended company, from dwarf to elf, with a soft smile. "But at least we no longer have to worry about how best to introduce Fíli to his new name."

Kíli sighed when the wizard caught his eye. Gandalf's optimism could rival Bofur's sometimes. Although he still wasn't pleased with the situation, Kíli was about to second Gandalf's comment, and hopefully put an end to the matter, when he felt a burst of cold air slap the back of his neck.

"Oh, what now?" Dori grumbled, as the familiar groan of the Front Gate's wicket door being opened filled the Entrance Hall.

Kíli turned around, expecting to discover that the Elvenking had in fact changed his mind and was going to be dragging Legolas back to Mirkwood… and was therefore thoroughly unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. Four ponies clopped wearily in single-file through the Gate's smaller inset door, and then clustered together in the Entrance Hall. The first carried Glóin, the second, Nori, the third, Bombur, and the fourth, dappled grey pony carried Dís into Erebor; the home she hadn't seen in well over a century.

Kíli heard the shouts rise up from the company around him, but then the world went silent as he stared at his mother with wide eyes, too stunned to move as his breath caught in his throat. He daren't blink for fear that she might disappear again and part of him was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. With his heart pumping rapidly in his chest, Kíli watched as Glóin and Nori dropped down from their ponies and quickly moved to Dís to her help her dismount… but she batted their hands away and dismounted easily on her own. And that was the moment Kíli knew he wasn't imagining it. His mother was really here.

All of a sudden he was on his feet, and the sounds of the Hall gushed back into his ears like a gust of wind. With an enormous grin on his lips and his heart threatening to burst right out of his chest, Kíli sprinted towards Dís as if he were a dwarfling again. Her alert blue eyes had been scanning the Entrance Hall, but as soon as Kíli leapt up, she spotted him and a smile broke out on her face like a shaft of light. She had just enough time to open her arms before Kíli skidded to a stop – narrowly avoiding knocking into her – and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Kíli wrapped his arms around his mother and had to stoop a little to rest his chin on her shoulder. Relief and joy swelled in his chest as he held her tighter still, but then his heart jolted. She was definitely thinner than when they had said goodbye in Ered Luin, and there were more streaks of silver in her dark hair. Screwing up his eyes, Kíli pushed his nose into the soft fabric of her black dress, comforted by his mother's warm, familiar scent. But then her hands suddenly closed around his shoulders and pulled him away.

"Fíli?" she breathed, her face pale as she peered up at him with a strained expression.

"He's all right, Mama. He's just resting at the moment," Kíli replied, unnerved by the fear in his mother's eyes.

Dís' shoulders sagged as she let out an audible breath and pulled Kíli back into her arms. It suddenly struck Kíli that when Glóin, Nori, and Bombur had left for the Blue Mountains, Fíli's condition had been critical… and his survival not guaranteed. His mother had arrived in Erebor not knowing if she was wearing black for her eldest son as well as her brother. That thought made his chest ache as the image of Thorin lying in Thrór's bedchamber flashed in front of his eyes. He held Dís closer, pressing his cheek against her shoulder, waiting for the memory to fade… which, surprisingly, it did. Kíli was relieved to find his mother, after all these years, still had the power to chase his black thoughts away. And now his head was filled with all Fíli had accomplished in the past few weeks: attending Thorin's funeral, returning to the company's fireside, visiting the infirmary, dealing with dwarflings… and Thranduil.

"You're going to be so proud of him," Kíli whispered, his voice cracking.

"I'm proud of both of you," came his mother's murmured but firm reply.

The cry rose in Kíli's throat, and he bit down on his lip, trying to contain it. But then the tears began blurring his vision as everything that had happened came crashing down upon him. His fingers curled around Dís' dress as he started to shake, and at that moment his only thought was just how much he had missed her.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dís said softly, as the first sob broke from Kíli's lips. She moved one hand to the back of his head and the other began drawing soothing circles on his shuddering shoulders.

Kíli fought against his sobs, focusing on the calming movements of his mother's hand, and tried to control his choked breaths. After a few long moments, Dís kissed the top of his head, then gently pulled him away. If he and Fíli got upset when they were younger, Dís always allowed them time to cry, but she would never let them get too worked up. She would decide when they had cried enough and then help them sort themselves out and perk up. Kíli knew he had been given his time and as he straightened up, his mother's hands reached for his face. With her thumbs, she carefully wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Now, I believe some introductions are in order?" Dís looked from Kíli to the company's fire behind him.

Kíli turned around to see that the company, including Bilbo and Gandalf, were all excitedly engaged in welcoming back Glóin, Nori, and Bombur. Nori was ruffling Ori's hair and even indulging Dori's fussing and Bifur was signing enthusiastically to Bombur. But there was also a group of elves and a man that stuck out like a sore thumb as they hovered on the edge of the reunions. Kíli glanced back at Dís, unsure of how much the others had told her about Rivendell and these unexpected additions. His mother's expression was inscrutable and gave away nothing, though Kíli did sense her wariness.

He nodded and gestured to the fire. As they approached, the company quietened and all turned to face them. Kíli recognised the looks of reverence previously reserved for Thorin as they lowered their heads in respect, and Bofur pulled off his hat as he bowed. Dís' eyes flitted to the elves standing to her left, but her attentions remained on those assembled in front of her as she looked over all of them with a small smile. Her gaze lingered on Gandalf, then on Bilbo for a time, but her eyes continued to scan the company until they came to rest on Balin.

"Balin," she said quietly, with a nod to the white-haired dwarf.

"My lady," Balin smiled, bowing once more. "It fills my heart with joy to see you again."

Dwalin, standing at his brother's side, rolled his eyes – something which wasn't missed by Dís. "You never were one for poetry, were you, Dwalin?" she said wryly, taking a step towards the taller dwarf.

Kíli felt his chest tighten as he saw his mother's amused expression falter at the shadow that passed over Dwalin's eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, and Kíli knew there was a silent exchange going on, communicated only through the slightest changes in facial expressions… made possible by over a century of friendship.

Dwalin's gaze finally dropped to his feet. "I'm… I'm so sorry," he choked out, fidgeting with his hands like a dwarf half his age.

Dís moved forward and closed her hands over Dwalin's to still them. "So am I," she whispered, peering up at him with the saddest smile, and it was breaking Kíli's heart.

Kíli looked away, not wanting to intrude on his mother's sharing of grief with one of her oldest friends, but then he heard Dwalin murmur something. His voice was so small, Kíli almost didn't catch it, but he knew what he had heard: "I failed him."

With icy claws fastening around his heart, Kíli turned back to his mother just in time to see her pull Dwalin firmly into her arms. Aside from the incident outside Fíli's tent all those weeks ago, he had never known Dwalin embrace anyone before, and it was strange to see how his towering form was suddenly diminished by Dís' arms. She held Dwalin as if he were her third child, and as Kíli had witnessed her scold him as such on many occasions, embracing him in this way didn't seem odd. Balin was clearly thinking along the same lines and he exchanged a small smile with Kíli. However, the dwarves not familiar with this dynamic such as Dori, Nori, and Ori seemed fairly stumped by the embrace, and Legolas and the Rivendell party were positively dumbfounded.

Finally, Dís nudged Dwalin's head from her shoulder and he straightened up with an awkward cough, immediately turning to glare at the elves and Estel who were tactfully pretending they hadn't seen anything. Kíli saw the last flicker of pain on Dís' face vanish as she followed Dwalin's gaze. Her wry smile returned.

"Well, Dwalin, unless my old eyes are playing tricks on me, I do believe I can see several elves whom you have left unscathed," she said, turning to address the company's newest additions.

Dwalin muttered something as his eyes moved to Legolas. Kíli was sure Dís had heard him, but she didn't comment. Kíli took a step forward, knowing it would fall to him to give introductions… and he didn't trust anyone else to do it without causing tensions to flare once again.

"Mama, this is Lady Arwen and her brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, the children of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. And Estel, Lord Elrond's ward."

The Rivendell party all lowered their heads, mimicking the company's greeting, and Dís returned a slow, cautious nod. She looked Arwen up and down, but it was Estel who received most of her scrutiny, as if she already knew what a pivotal role he had played with Fíli that winter.

"I've heard a lot about you all," Dís said carefully, glancing behind her at Glóin, Nori, and Bombur, who had obviously told her about their stay in Imladris. But they would not have been able to tell her what they were doing in Erebor. Kíli saw them exchanging perplexed looks and turning to their brothers for answers.

"And this is Legolas of the Woodland Realm," Kíli said, gesturing to the blonde elf, who bowed low.

Dís stiffened slightly, raising an eyebrow as her eyes moved back to Kíli. But it was Glóin who spoke next.

"Does your father know you're still here?" Glóin asked, narrowing his eyes at Legolas.

There had been an unfortunate incident in Mirkwood where Legolas had made a rather unpleasant comment about the picture of Glóin's wife in the locket he was carrying. Kíli suspected that the red-haired dwarf was not going to be so quick to forgive or forget, and would take any opportunity to torture the elf.

"I assure you, Master Glóin, that my father is all too aware of my presence here," Legolas replied calmly, though he shifted closer to Estel.

"Then what, may I ask, _are_ you doing here?" Glóin pressed, his voice rising.

"I was sent to Rivendell to collect Estel," Legolas answered. "I am only staying in Erebor to witness the outcome of my journey. I will be leaving after Fíli's coronation."

Kíli froze. His brown eyes widened, and he didn't dare turn to look at his mother. He could only stare at Legolas, wondering if tactlessness was, in fact, an inherited trait.

"_Coronation_?" Dís whispered, and when Kíli did turn to her, she fixed him with a searching, blue stare.

"Nothing's been organised, Mama," Kíli said quickly. "Fíli isn't ready yet… But he…"

Kíli trailed off. There was so much he needed to tell his mother, and so much to be explained. It felt like all the time in the world wouldn't be able to do the past few months justice. Panicking, Kíli's eyes did a quick sweep of the company before returning to Dís.

Sighing, Dís put a hand on his arm, as if to calm him. "I need to see him," she said, her lips barely moving. "Please, Kíli… Take me to your brother."

* * *

Kíli slowed his step as he and Dís turned into the upper corridor. On their journey there, he had told her a very condensed version of events since the battle before the Front Gate, and now silence took over as he left her to her thoughts. Dís' blue eyes moved from wall to wall as they walked, and with a painful tug in his stomach, Kíli recognised her look of memory-filled wonder as the one Thorin had worn when they first entered the Mountain. He knew she was remembering her childhood, and her step was heavy with the weight of it all.

They reached the door to his and Fíli's room and Dís paused, turning to study her son with a curious expression. "Thorin and Frerin's room?" she murmured, knitting her black brows together.

"We… we didn't know," Kíli explained. "It was just one of the first rooms we found that was, well, _inhabitable_. Dwalin told me a few days after we moved in."

Dís looked from Kíli to the door in front of her, and a small smile twitched up one corner of her mouth. "Sometimes Aulë has a strange sense of humour," she said quietly.

Kíli glanced across at her, mirroring her smile, and then slowly opened the door. When he had left, Fíli had been awake, but now they found him sleeping soundly in his bed. They both crept across the room to his side, and Dís slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Her gaze lingered on the crutches that were leaning against the bedside table, but then turned to her golden-haired son, who remained fast asleep. She reached out and placed one hand over Fíli's, which was resting on his stomach, and began to gently stroke his hair with the other, smoothing it back from his forehead. It was the way Kíli used to wake Fíli in the dark days of the tent encampment; he had been attempting to emulate his mother, but seeing her with Fíli now, he sensed that he hadn't even come close.

Fíli stirred with a soft mumble of 'Kíli' that made his brother's chest tighten. His blue eyes fluttered open and they were still dull and cloudy with sleep. Kíli knew he couldn't have been asleep for long and must have therefore been unexpectedly dredged up from the greatest depths of dreaming. Blinking rapidly, his bleary eyes finally locked on Dís, and his whole body went rigid. The blue of his gaze suddenly became bright and alert as his eyes widened.

"Mama?" he gasped, the disbelief written all over his stricken features.

"Hello, love," Dís said, her hand travelling down from his forehead to brush a stray strand behind his ear.

Fíli quickly struggled to sit up, and pressed his own hand over his mother's, holding it against his cheek. He stared at her as his eyes began to shine and his breathing became choked.

As the first tear touched Dís' fingertip, she let her hand fall away and opened her arms to him. "Come here, Fíli," she whispered.

As soon as the words left her lips, Fíli flew to her. Kíli instinctively took a step back, but Dís wasn't fazed by her eldest son's sudden movement, and didn't budge from her spot on the edge of the bed. She wrapped her arms around him as he hunched into her, and rested her chin on his hair.

Fíli croaked out another 'Mama', before burying his face in Dís' shoulder and losing his voice to his sobs. Kíli was glad he was referring to her as 'Mama' again. In the years since he came of age, Fíli had been using 'Mother' instead in an attempt to throw off his young aura and embrace his status as Thorin's heir… but Kíli knew Dís secretly resented the moniker, and had never fully followed Fíli in using it.

Fíli clung to Dís as if he were scared that she would disappear the second he let go. His chest was threatening to burst with the spectrum of emotions that were pulsing through him as he held her tighter. A war raged in his heart between the absolute joy at seeing his mother again and the blackness of the pain and grief she carried with her. He had forgotten just how much she looked like Thorin, and that thought alone was enough to bring a permanent lump to his throat. His arms settled around Dís' waist and his cries quietened as he realised the difference… she was thinner than he remembered. He had also noted the paler colour in her cheeks and how her beard was greying at her temples. Slowly lifting his head, he blinked away his tears and peered over his mother's shoulder at Kíli, standing behind them. The look on Kíli's face told him that he had noticed too.

Before Fíli could comment on it, he felt Dís' fingers brush one of the raised scars on his back. He knew she could trace the line of lumpy flesh through his thin cotton shirt and her hand froze. Fíli pulled away from her and the hand withdrew to her side, but she still wore a pained expression, her blue eyes dark.

"I'm all right, Mama," Fíli said gently.

He knew she wouldn't believe that for a second, but he would do anything to try and lessen his mother's pain… and he wasn't going to let a scar that no longer troubled him be another source of distress for her.

"Did everyone arrive back safely?" he asked seriously, his brow furrowed.

"Yes," Dís replied, glancing behind at Kíli. "Glóin, Nori, and Bombur are settling back in as we speak."

"And you didn't run into any difficulties on the road?" Fíli pressed, in the same authoritative tone, his voice low with concern.

His mother was staring at him with a strange expression. At first he couldn't quite fathom it, but then an unnerving thought occurred to him and he understood. Dís continued to study him, at a loss for words, her blue eyes heavy with an ache he knew all too well.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, his voice wavering. "I'm so sorry, Mama…"

"Hush, Fíli." Dís' tone was stern, but it was a maternal sternness he recognised. "We'll have none of that."

Fíli nodded, his gaze dropping into his lap. With a sigh, Dís wrapped one arm around him again and, turning, held the other out to Kíli. The remaining Durins then huddled together on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, silently sharing in their grief. Fíli pressed his face to his mother's shoulder and Kíli, at his side, snuggled into the other.

"Aulë knows how much I've missed you," Dís said softly, after a few moments. "And you've changed… You both have." She held her sons closer. "My darling boys… You've grown up."

* * *

It was the next logical step. She had been reunited with both her sons… It was only fitting that she should then go to her brother. The vault was cold and dark. Just how she remembered it from the one family funeral she had attended as a child. Kíli had taken Fíli to meet the newly returned members of the company, and she had slipped away, heading deep into the heart of the Mountain. She wasn't sure how she knew her way there. But something in her very bones sensed the path, as if Thorin was calling out to her from the ancient stone.

Now here he was before her. Finally part of the Mountain he had loved so much. Dís' blue eyes travelled over the inscription carved into the smooth lid of the tomb and her fingers, trembling only slightly, reached out to touch the cold stone. It was as icy as she expected, but still she laid her hand flat against the tomb, only wishing she could have laid her hand on her brother's breast, one final time. She would never see Thorin's face again. There had been time on her long journey to reconcile herself to that fact, and in the end, it didn't matter, because his face was all she saw in her mind's eye anyway. She always tried to focus her thoughts on his rare moments of happiness, and the memory that had comforted her over many months returned once again…

_No longer being able to see her feet because of her ballooned stomach had, at first, come as quite a shock… and it made retrieving fallen objects quite problematic. But now Dís was used to being greeted by the enormous bump whenever she looked down. She had not taken to pregnancy like a duck to water. Giving up work in the forge and being exiled to the house had been hard, and the first few months had been lonely… that was, until the baby started to kick. Then she realised she wasn't quite so alone; she and her baby were in this together. A lifetime of loss had hardened her to many things, but as her stomach began to swell, something within her thawed and finally, the maternal instincts took hold._

_The baby gave another violent kick and Dís let out a low hiss, one hand shooting out to clutch the table. _

"_All right?" came the low, concerned voice of Thorin standing in the corner of the kitchen. _

_Dís straightened up, gently rubbing her stomach. "He's kicking a lot today," she replied, turning to her brother. She wasn't sure why she was so certain it was a boy. She just knew. _

"_Hush, little one," she whispered to her stomach, but the baby continued to kick with a vengeance. He was already full of Durin stubbornness. He gave another sharp jab to her left side, and she let out a groan, one hand jumping to her back._

_Thorin crossed the kitchen in an instant and came to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You should sit down," he murmured, his brow furrowed._

"_So should you," Dís retorted, looking pointedly up into her brother's tired eyes. _

_She then regretted being so short with him. Thorin was trying his best, and she could ask no more than that. The guilt returned as she glanced down at her stomach. He had been beginning to draw up plans for a quest to reclaim Erebor when she fell pregnant. Dwalin told her so. But as soon as news of her condition reached him, all preparations were halted. She still saw the Mountain reflected in his eyes every time he looked at her, and she knew the dream he was giving up to stay with her. _

_Thorin made to move away, but she caught his hands. "He always kicks when you come home," she said quietly, and then carefully placed Thorin's hands against her stomach._

_At first, Thorin flinched away. He had never touched her bump before, and Dís suspected he was actually scared of it… but then the baby kicked, and Thorin's eyes widened. A smile Dís hadn't seen for months and months broke out on his lips and it lit up his entire face. His gaze filled with wonder, he slowly lowered himself onto one knee so that he was eye-level with her stomach, as if he felt he was in the presence of something divine, and his smile never faltered. The baby continued to kick excitedly and Dís sucked in deep breaths to stop herself from hunching over._

"_He's going to be a fighter," Thorin said, peering up at her, grinning. "Like his father."_

_Dís stared back down at her brother, her hand moving over his. "Like his uncle," she whispered. _

"Mama?"

Dís was dragged from the memory with a jolt. The kitchen in Ered Luin dissolved into the black walls of the vault, but she found she was clutching her stomach, as if she were still holding Thorin's hand there. She turned to find her second bump standing in front of her and wondered why she couldn't see him clearly. It was then that she realised she was crying.

Kíli stared at his mother, his heart thumping in his chest. She was holding her stomach as she leant over Thorin's tomb and it frightened him… Was she ill? It was something Dís would do: keep sickness a secret. And she was crying. He could see the glittering tracks of tears shining on her pale cheeks, and it took her a long time to reach up and hastily wipe them away. He had only ever seen his mother cry once before.

She had cried more than once in his life-time, of course, and he would never forget the day Fíli told him about the nights she spent crying after their father died. He wasn't old enough to remember, but Fíli said she would cry at the kitchen table downstairs, before Thorin came home, but after she thought he was asleep. Fíli cried with her too most nights, as he lay in his bed, listening to her through the floor… but one evening he crept down the rickety wooden stairs into the kitchen and climbed into her lap. At six years old, Fíli held his mother, and begged her not to cry… and he never heard her cry again after that. But Kíli did.

Another argument had broken out in their household about the quest for Erebor. Or, more specifically, about his and Fíli's joining it. Dís and Thorin had done most of the arguing, and Kíli had been left in no doubt about the fact that Dís could match her brother for temper as well as stubbornness. It wasn't clear who had won the fight, but Thorin had slammed out of the house and hadn't returned until the early hours of the morning. Kíli and Fíli had felt so guilty; Thorin was fighting their corner for them, and he was the one who was getting a battering from their mother. The next morning, Kíli had woken to find Thorin and Fíli were already at the forge, but his shift wasn't until the afternoon. He had come downstairs and found Dís hunched over the sink, her shoulders shaking.

"_Mama! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"_

"_Because I've decided to let you go."_

"Kíli?"

Kíli suddenly realised Dís had moved away from Thorin's tomb and was now standing in front of him. Her cheeks were wiped clean of tears, but her eyes were still shining.

"You were far away," she said, with a small smile.

"So were you," Kíli replied, studying her carefully. When it was clear his mother was going to give nothing else away, he added: "Fíli disappeared down here a few weeks ago."

Dís glanced back at Thorin's tomb. "I'm sorry I had to sneak away."

"Do you want me to go?" Kíli asked quietly.

"No," Dís answered, after a pause. "No… It's far too quiet in here for my liking."

Despite Dís' complaint of the quiet, Kíli could find nothing to say to fill the silence that fell over them. His heart ached for his mother and he was desperate to hold her again, but he knew she wouldn't want him to fuss over her.

"You're going to get yourself killed, Thorin," Dís said suddenly. "That's the last thing I said to your uncle before our farewell. Such angry words before our parting…"

Kíli fought back the twinge in his stomach. He swallowed to relieve the tightness in his throat. "He never held it against you, Mama," he said, trying to keep his voice even. He thought back to the conversation he had heard between Fíli and Estel in this very spot. "Before… Before he died, he spoke to Fíli… He wanted him to tell you how much he loved you."

Tears prickled at the corners of Kíli's eyes as he looked at Dís and saw her face crumple. She reached up a hand to her brow, screwing up her eyes, and when she opened them, the blue was dark and clouded. Unable to stop himself any longer, Kíli moved forward and wrapped his arms around his mother, pulling her into his chest the way she had done only hours before.

She clutched at his coat and stayed silent for a long time, but finally she turned her head to the side and murmured: "You're a good couple of inches taller… Or maybe I'm just shrinking."

Kíli felt the smile twitch on his lips as he rested his cheek on his mother's hair. Then he began to chuckle and he heard Dís' low laugh too. And there, in the dark of the Mountain, they held each other tighter and laughed through their tears, their voices reverberating around the stone walls of the vault, as if Thorin were laughing with them.

* * *

**A/N: And that's our introduction to Dís! But don't worry, this is just the tip of the Dís iceberg (Dísberg?) and the next chapter will be more Fíli-centric. We'll also get to see Dís kick the crap out of some councillors. Until then, please do let me know what you thought of this chapter! **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'll spare you another enormous author's note and just say a massive thank you to all my readers for your wonderful response to Chapter Fifteen. This chapter was a bit of an uphill battle, but I want to thank Italian Hobbit for giving me some pointers and helping drag me from the mire of writer's block. Now it's time for a healthy dose of angst and some obligatory tea-drinking…**

* * *

Fíli came to a stop when he reached the door to Thrór's bedchamber. His heartbeat thudding in his ears, he quickly peered up and down the corridor, but it was dark and silent. He thought he had heard his mother stir when he passed her room, but her door was yet to creak. Kíli hadn't woken as he pulled on his boots and crept out of the room as stealthily as one could on crutches. For once, sleep had eluded Fíli and he had been left watching the candle on his bedside table steadily collapse under the weight of the orange flame, the soft wax folding in on itself. Yet his thoughts couldn't be focused on the candle; he barely saw its flame as his mind was filled with images of Thranduil, and he heard the cold wind mingled with the few words the Elvenking had spoken that day.

Fíli stared at the heavy oak-wood door in front of him, and the door only seemed to stare back, aware of the challenge it was presenting. Preemptively gritting his teeth, Fíli slowly lowered his right foot onto the floor. Óin had told him the day after Dís' arrival that he should be able to start putting weight on his foot, but Fíli had remained reluctant and stubborn. He was now far more adept at walking on one leg than two, and his snail's pace when attempting to move both feet with the aid of his crutches made him cringe. Yet, to open a door, he needed a free hand… and so standing on two feet was preferable. Wincing as a sharp pain shot up his right leg, Fíli persevered and slipped a crutch into the crook of his arm, so that he could reach out and carefully twist the cold metal door-handle. The door to Thrór's bedchamber swung open with an eerie creak that bordered on a whine, and Fíli tensed. A hasty glance behind confirmed that the corridor was still empty, and so he lifted his right foot again and moved into the room.

His eyes darted to the large four-poster bed that dominated the room… but it was empty. In a split-second, breathless moment, Fíli had expected to see Thorin still lying there, but all that remained was a thick, grey fur blanket, folded at the bottom of the bed. The high-backed wooden chair was keeping up its vigil at the bedside, and Fíli remembered sitting there for the first time… grasping Thorin's cold hand and sobbing into the bed sheets. A lump rose in his throat like the ghost of a cry, and he tore his eyes from the bed, his gaze jumping to the single candle burning on top of the elaborately carved chest of drawers against the opposite wall. It was a noticeably large candle, stout like the trunk of a young tree, and it was obviously chosen to provide light in this dark place. Fíli suspected Kíli was the keeper of this candle, and every so often he would disappear, only briefly, into Thrór's chamber to check the candle was still burning.

The candle cast a yellow pool of light on the floor that spread across the stone like molten gold, just reaching the corner of the room where Thorin's belongings lay. The pack he had carried on their quest rested against the wall and its contents were neatly arranged in front of it. Fíli's eyes flitted from the folded undershirts, to the spare pair of leather boots, to Thràin's glinting silver key. His stomach twisted painfully and his heart began crashing against his ribs… And then his gaze came to rest on the reason for his coming. The oak shield.

It lay in front of Thorin's boots, its gnarled bark flickering black and gold in the candlelight, and there was a heavy presence in the room, as if the shield had been waiting for him all along. Fíli returned his right foot to the floor and slowly edged forward. His leg ached with every step, but he ignored it. The soft clatter of his crutches and the shuffle of his unsteady footsteps was drowned out by his heartbeat booming in his ears as he approached this holiest of relics. Stopping only a foot from the shield, Fíli stared down at it and had to close his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. Behind his closed lids, his mind carried him back to the battlefield… He could feel Azog's foul breath, hot against his neck, and he saw himself swinging around and smashing the oak shield against the Pale Orc's skull… _"You remember this, don't you, Azog?"_

Fíli opened his eyes and the world was blurred. Blinking away the hot tears, he fixed his gaze once again on the shield. It had been Azog the Defiler's downfall in the end; more than a century after it had first saved Thorin's life, it had saved it again, one final time. Estel had taught Fíli that. And it had been his uncle's dying wish that his nephew carry it after him, that it not be sealed in a dark tomb at the heart of the Mountain. _"The shield… Don't let them bury me with it… It's yours now…"_ Fíli had heard Thorin's words echoing endlessly around his mind, both in his waking hours and in his dreams, and he had been running from them. But now he was done running.

With tears beginning to slide down his burning cheeks, Fíli bent his knees ever so slightly, and dropped his right crutch to the floor at his side. Any noise it made was lost on him as he focused solely on what he was about to do, and the reason he was here. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Fíli reached out his right hand and slowly lowered himself towards the floor. He moved his left crutch out to the side as he bent his knees, dropping into a half crouch. His back was burning and his right leg felt as if it had been plunged into the fires of the forge… but then his hand closed around the protruding branch of the oak shield.

The fire was no longer consuming him; he was revelling in the fire. He felt the strength of the flames stoked within him, and he rose up from the floor, his chest heaving. The jerkiness of the movement made him stagger back, but he steadied himself, keeping a firm grip on his left crutch, and his fingers tightening around the shield. It was somehow lighter than he remembered, and all he could do was look down to where it hovered in his hand, parallel to his thigh. And then he heard the door creak behind him.

His feet firmly planted to the floor, and his body rigid, Fíli twisted only his head to follow the sound… and found his mother staring at him. Dís was standing in the doorway, her long nightgown covering her feet, and she was wearing the strangest expression, as if for a moment she thought he were someone else. They stared at each other for a long time, and Fíli's chest rose and fell rapidly, his silvery breath hanging in the cold air between them.

Finally, Dís spoke: "After all these years, I still wake up when I know one of my boys is out of bed."

Her voice was quiet and gentle, but Fíli didn't miss the hint of wariness in it. When he didn't reply, she turned and carefully shut the door behind her with a soft clunk. He wanted to go to her, but he was rooted to the spot, unsure of what really held him there. Dís seemed to sense this, and so she came to him. She moved in front of Fíli, standing in the space between her son and her brother's belongings, and her dark blue eyes moved slowly over his face.

"Fíli?" she whispered.

Fíli felt himself beginning to shake and his whole body was numb… with the exception of his fingers wrapped around the oak shield; the bark was rough against his palm, like one of Thorin's calloused hands.

"I… I don't know… if I can do this… Mama," he gasped out, the tears streaming silently down his face, as the fire within him wavered.

Dís unexpectedly took her son's face in her hands, and his tears slipped down between her fingers. "Fíli, listen to me," she said, her blue eyes blazing. "This is who you were born to be… And you _can_ do this… You are a king, and you have been a king for quite some time."

Fíli studied his mother through his tears. This was the first time she had referred to him as a king since her arrival, and the flint and iron of her eyes told him she meant it… she meant every single word. Months flashed in front of his eyes in seconds as the entire quest unfolded before him, and he heard Estel's voice in his head, harmonising with his mother's: _"You become a king when you start acting like one, and you have been a king ever since you arrived in Rivendell."_ His heart pounding against his chest, his eyes dropped down to the oak shield clutched in his hand.

"Sweetheart, look at me," Dís said softly, drawing Fíli's gaze back to her. "It will not be a burden to you… It will give you strength, it will give you courage."

Fíli tightened his grip on the shield, the cry getting stuck in his throat. He thought of the fire that had filled him out on the battlefield when he had taken up the shield; how it had fuelled his rage and his determination to wipe Azog off the face of Middle Earth… The same fire had returned only moments ago when he lifted the shield for a second time.

"The day your uncle first seized that shield, he became a king," Dís continued, tears shining in her blue eyes. "And so it was with you."

Fíli nodded, his chest tightening as he realised his mother was right. The day he had first grasped the oak shield had been the day Thorin died. The day the crown, and the shield, had been passed to him.

"I won't let him down," Fíli said, his voice filled with determination, and then he thought of Kíli, and the company, and those of the Iron Hills; all in the Mountain who were his people. "I won't let any of you down."

Dís smiled up at him, gently pulling their foreheads together. "You will never be able to let me down," she said firmly. "And I have never been more proud of you than I am at this very moment."

With a choked breath, Fíli dropped his left crutch to the floor so that he could wrap his arm around Dís. His balance faltered, but she held him close to steady him. And so, standing on his own two feet, Fíli embraced his mother, his right hand still tightly grasping the oak shield.

* * *

Bilbo watched Dís and Gandalf talking from a relatively safe distance across the fire. Thorin's sister and the wizard were sitting outside one of the company's tents, speaking quietly, with seemingly long pauses between utterances. Bilbo tried to remain inconspicuous as he hunched next to Bombur, but he couldn't take his eyes off Dís. She had barely spoken to him since her arrival, and part of Bilbo was glad of it. He sensed his heart couldn't take any form of prolonged conversation… because Lady Dís was so remarkably like her brother.

It wasn't just the cautious blue eyes or the dark hair streaked with silver. Many of her mannerisms were also Thorin's, as was the way she held herself. One smile he had witnessed had been particularly painful. She was her own person, of course, but as Bilbo had only known her all of six days, he saw Thorin in every move she made. When he thought of his final exchange with Thorin before the battle, his heart ached, and he couldn't bear to look at Dís any longer.

His attentions turned to Lady Arwen, Bifur, and Bofur. It seemed the daughter of Elrond had inherited her father's affinity for languages and she was listening intently as Bifur and Bofur taught her the basics of Inglishmek, a kind of Dwarven sign language. Bifur would make a hand gesture, usually with a rumble of Ancient Dwarvish, and Bofur would translate it into Westron. Arwen then replicated Bifur's gesture and repeated the word.

The frostiness between the company and the Elvish visitors, caused by Thranduil's faux-pas, had melted away with the news of Fíli taking up Thorin's oak shield the day before yesterday. It was felt that Thranduil had in fact done them a service by giving Fíli a nudge in the right direction, and so it now seemed far less likely that Dwalin would take a swipe at Legolas with his axe when nobody was looking. The elves also appeared to have grown on Dís in the short time she had been in Erebor. Although at times she remained wary, she had joined various members of the company in scolding Elladan and Elrohir for their general domestic ineptness and laughed with everyone else when Legolas fell prey to another initiatory prank. She had also suggested the hunting trip to her sons that afternoon, and so Fíli and Kíli, along with the ever faithful Dwalin, had ridden off with Estel, Legolas, and the twins in search of game for the company's fire.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo's eyes darted to the right and he found Bombur studying him.

"You were miles away, lad," the rotund dwarf commented, as he removed the copper kettle from the fire. "Tea's ready."

Bilbo had made the wonderful discovery of a tin of West Shire tealeaves that had slipped inside the lining of his pack, and so their first pot of tea in over two months had been put on to brew.

Bombur poured the steaming, sweet-smelling tea into one of the mismatched mugs and handed it to Bilbo. "For Lady Dís," he murmured, nodding over to where she sat, still deep in conversation with Gandalf.

Bilbo's heart jolted as he followed Bombur's gaze, and he swallowed to try and relieve the sickness in his stomach. His reaction went unnoticed by Bombur, who thrust the mug closer to him until he took it. Giving a meek nod, Bilbo held the mug between two hands and slowly approached Dís and Gandalf.

He gave a soft cough. "T-Tea for you, my lady," he stammered, as dark blue eyes turned to him.

"Thank you, Mister Baggins," Dís replied, with a grateful smile, accepting the mug of hot tea.

Bilbo nodded, and was turning to leave, when Gandalf said: "Why don't you join us, Bilbo?"

"Oh, I… er, I wouldn't want to interrupt," Bilbo said, as politely as he could, aware that his voice was shaking.

"Nonsense." Gandalf patted a wooden stool at his side. Bilbo reluctantly took a seat, feeling Dís' eyes on him as she blew on her tea to cool it. "I was just telling Lady Dís about our stay in Rivendell, and Fíli's expert role as negotiator."

Bilbo managed a smile. Fíli had shown wisdom well beyond his years when he persuaded Lord Elrond to let the company stay after Thorin, in a state of wounded delirium, had struck Lady Arwen in the sickroom.

"Fíli took good care of us all during our stay," Bilbo agreed, his eyes flitting to Dís, then back to his feet. "He made sure we never wanted for anything."

"And I hear you are also quite the negotiator."

Bilbo looked up to find Dís studying him with an unfathomable expression. Her words cut right through him, though he guessed they weren't intended to burn as much as they did. His thoughts returned to the Arkenstone. He knew this was the negotiating she was referring to. When Kíli passed on Thorin's final word of apology, told to him by Fíli, Bilbo had felt relief and it had pulled him from his self-imposed solitary confinement… but an ache still lingered. The pain spiked as he looked at Dís now and saw Thorin staring back at him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, my lady," he whispered, his eyes beginning to sting. "And I'm… I really am _sorry_."

Anyone else may have been confused by the change of subject, but the look in Dís' eyes told Bilbo she had made the leap. She knew he was apologising for betraying her brother.

"Mister Baggins, I'm sure you're aware of how stubborn my brother was and just how capable he was of holding a grudge," Dís said carefully. "'Sorry' was a word very seldom on his lips… But I gather that, before he died, he asked Fíli to pass on his apologies."

Bilbo stared at Dís, his mouth slightly agape, only vaguely aware that he was nodding.

"Then I ask that you stop your fretting," she continued, and her voice was unbelievably gentle, full of the maternal warmth he had heard her use with Kíli. "My brother forgave you – an incredibly rare occurrence, I might add – and I'm sure he would hate to see you still worrying about this misunderstanding."

Dís gave him a soft, sad smile, which was so reminiscent of Thorin that Bilbo felt the burden slowly lifted from his back. Thorin's death would always pain him, but now he felt he could continue, knowing that he had truly been granted forgiveness. In apologising to Dís, he sensed he had atoned in the best way possible.

"Thank you, my lady," Bilbo murmured, hastily reaching up to wipe his eyes.

He wondered if she had any more to say on the matter, but then Balin appeared from the tent to their left, and Dís was suddenly on her feet.

"Time for another council meeting, Balin?" she asked casually, setting down the untouched mug of tea on the bench behind her.

"Aye, my lady," Balin replied, his tone careful.

"Excellent," Dís said, and now there was a definite edge in her voice. "I think I'll join you. I have a few matters for 'Any Other Business'."

Balin stared at Dís and Bilbo saw the moment when realisation dawned in his brown eyes. "Kíli said he hadn't told you anything." It seemed news of the council's _antics_ over the past few months had reached Dís.

"Kíli hasn't told me anything," Dís said evenly. "Thresi, on the other hand, had quite a lot to say."

"Thresi?" Bilbo whispered to Gandalf.

"Dàin's wife," Gandalf murmured in reply. "She arrived with the caravan of women from the Iron Hills."

Bilbo watched as Balin's eyes grew wider. "You sent the boys away on purpose?" he asked, with a sigh.

"Yes," Dís answered. "On principle I don't fight my boys' battles for them, but this has gone beyond that… And it would upset them to know their mother is about to make quite a scene."

* * *

Thresi, wife of Dàin and Lady of the Iron Hills, was an incredibly quiet and reserved dwarrowdam. She usually avoided meddling in other people's affairs, but it didn't mean she wasn't astutely aware of all that was going on around her. She was an observer. One of the sharpest and most perceptive dwarves Dís had ever met… and her husband was driving her to distraction. Thresi had arrived with the convoy of dwarrowdams and their children from the Iron Hills, and was the group's de facto leader, but she had made her presence known to few in the Mountain. She hadn't introduced herself to Fíli and Kíli, as she knew the tensions present between the heirs and her husband's council, but had followed their progress from a distance, which only made her despair of Dàin all the more. Dís hadn't seen Thresi since her wedding, but she still recognised her immediately when Thresi made herself known the day after the party's arrival from the Blue Mountains, and the whole sorry mess had been related.

Dís didn't begrudge Fíli and Kíli's silence on the situation with Dàin's council. She even suspected Kíli hadn't filled his brother in on some of the major details. But enough was enough. "My husband is a fool," Thresi had said. "But I am the only one allowed to make a fool out of him." For once she had involved herself in her husband's affairs, but her various reproaches, aimed at both Dàin and his councillors, had fallen on deaf ears. Dís concluded this was because Thresi hadn't spoken with enough gravitas. No, this matter would require the temper and presence only an heir of Durin could possess.

Half-way to the council chamber, Dís decided exactly how she wanted things to unfold and turned to Balin, walking dutifully at her side, but looking paler than ever before. "There is no need to look so mortified, Balin," she said quietly. "I shan't be staying long."

They arrived at the room selected as a make-shift council chamber, and Dís raised an eyebrow. It was fitting, she supposed. A cacophony of voices could be heard coming from the other side of the doors, but Dís already knew they were late. It was Balin's last show of defiance, and he had been late to the past four council meetings. Dís gave him a nod and an encouraging smile. She suspected he would have returned a withering look if he hadn't thought it out of turn.

Balin slowly opened the door and showed her in. Dís strode into the room and the silence was slow in coming. Dàin was sitting looking miserable at the head of the long wooden table, watching his councillors immersed in their bickering. One by one, the councillors noticed her presence, and then the hush came, and then they all jumped to their feet like startled rabbits and began a range of comedic bows.

"Enough," Dís said, and the one word was like a thunderclap. The councillors froze, the colour draining from their faces. "You have shown my sons no respect; I don't see why I should warrant any."

The councillors all crept back into their chairs. Dàin was staring at her with a look of pure terror.

"But my lady –" a grey-haired councillor began.

"I am not finished," Dís cut across him, her voice dangerously quiet. "No, I am far from finished with you all."

Thorin would have shouted until he was hoarse and probably split the wooden table in two. Dís had been known to drown out her brother's voice in an argument, but she chose a different tactic. She would remain calm and watch the councillors sweat.

"Don't think I can't see you reaching into your coats for pictures of your daughters and marriage contracts," Dís said, her glare moving from one councillor to another as their hands froze at their pockets. "And I tell you now: my sons will marry into your families over my dead body."

"My lady," the councillor sitting next to Dàin spoke up. "There are many great matches to be made here, and Fíli will need an heir."

Dís fixed the councillor with a black stare. Were Dàin's council really going to be this slow on the uptake? The expression on Dàin's face told her he knew he was surrounded by cretins.

"Do you know what this room was used for before you unceremoniously commandeered my grandfather's dining table?" Dís asked, changing tact.

The councillors all looked at each other with confusion, thrown by the question.

"You are currently sitting in Erebor's finest slaughterhouse, hence the grooves in the floor and the hooks still suspended from the ceiling."

Every councillor's eyes jumped from the stone floor to the vicious looking metal hooks hanging above them. A few councillors turned a garish shade of green.

"I suppose the smell in here has been masked by your own pungent odour," Dís said carefully. She took a step closer to the table. "I believe many of you weren't listening before, so listen now, and listen well. If any of you ever dare approach my sons with proposals of marriage, I will personally string you up on one of those hooks and bleed you like the carcasses of old… Have I made myself clear?"

There was a moment of horrified silence, followed by a lot of vigorous nodding.

"Do not think I have forgotten that the Iron Hills refused to join my brother in his quest," Dís continued, her voice cold, with more edge than an axe. "And now you have spent the past three months trying to reap the benefits of his efforts."

Most of the councillors seemed to know they were beaten, and like children all they could do was remain silent and accept their reprimanding… but then a young, red-haired councillor spoke up: "I think you'll find, _my lady_, the battle before the Front Gate was won by us. Had we not come to Thorin's aid, Erebor would have been lost."

Dís' lips twisted down into a grimace and the older councillors on either side of their brash crony shifted away from him, as if they expected her to breathe fire.

"I have been reliably informed that there are only _two_ dwarves in this room who actually took part in that battle," Dís said, her voice dripping with venom as she stared down the young councillor. Her eyes then moved from Balin to Dàin. "Whereas the rest of you were holed up in your tents, waiting to see who would emerge as victor. And it appears you backed the wrong horse."

Her icy blue gaze fell on Dàin. She had many things to say to her cousin, and he had made several mistakes in the past year. But this didn't quell the pity she felt for him. Thresi had told her that Dàin gave his councillors too much power, but he had never personally acted with malicious intent towards Fíli and Kíli. He had even tried to reach out to Kíli and apologise for his council's behaviour. And now he sat before her, utterly dejected… and there was a definite look of contrition in his eyes when they met her own.

"A word of advice, Dàin," Dís said slowly. "Choose your councillors more carefully next time, and never fail to remind them that you are their Lord and they answer to you, not the other way around."

All eyes darted to Dàin for his reaction. He only lowered his head in assent and said nothing.

"Now I am finished," Dís whispered. "I will leave you to your meeting, but I trust that as you were all so competent in hastening my brother's funeral, you will be equally competent in hastening my son's coronation. Good day to you all."

And with that, Dís strode out of the room, leaving a table of gaping mouths in her wake. She had done it her way, not her brother's, but still she hoped he would be proud of her.

* * *

Fíli's fingers curled around the pommel of Estel's saddle as their horse sped up to a gallop on reaching flatter terrain. Estel rode with Fíli seated in front of him, the young dwarf's crutches strapped across his lap. The horses fanned out into a uniform line as they raced across the snowy plains that grew out of the desolated environs of Erebor. Elladan rode on their right with Kíli mounted comfortably behind him, and to their right was Legolas. Elrohir stayed to Fíli and Estel's left, sharing his horse with a less-than-comfortable Dwalin, who, despite his hatred of horses and fast riding, had insisted the heirs not leave without him.

The wind blew Fíli's hair from his face, sending a moustache braid slapping against each cheek, and it felt completely refreshing. He wasn't sure he had ever moved so fast in his life and it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Gulping in the free air, his blue eyes searched the white horizon until he spotted their destination: a cluster of black trees lining the western perimeter of the bleached plain.

Elladan called to Estel in Sindarin, and Fíli heard Elrohir burst out laughing on his left.

"What did he say?" Fíli asked, glancing behind at Estel.

"He told me to watch out for low-hanging branches," Estel grinned, and Fíli grinned too.

Then it was Legolas' turn to goad Estel and the blonde elf's white horse, bearing only one rider, easily broke from the ranks, charging forward.

"Hold on," Estel whispered, the amusement in his voice telling Fíli a challenge had been accepted.

Fíli did as instructed and suddenly their mount lurched forward.

"If he falls off that horse, you won't live to tell the tale!" Dwalin growled at Estel, as they left Elrohir and Elladan behind.

Fíli stifled a chuckle; he knew Dwalin was uneasy enough being so far off the ground and surrounded by elves without Estel's boyish streak resurfacing. They drew level with Legolas and both turned to him with identically provocative expressions. The elf's bright blue eyes stayed focused on the clump of trees they were fast approaching. Estel began to murmur to his horse in melodic yet urgent Sindarin, and the horse heeded its rider's words, moving into the lead with a snort, and Fíli felt its muscles trembling beneath him. Try as he might, Legolas couldn't convince his horse to match their pace, and so Fíli and Estel reached the trees before him. Estel reached out to tap the first tree they passed as a sign of their victory.

They were soon joined by Legolas, and then Elladan and Elrohir, and there was a quick-fire exchange in Sindarin which was lost on Fíli. Legolas dismounted first, and then Elladan slipped from his horse, graciously helping Kíli drop to the forest floor. Elrohir had a little more trouble coaxing Dwalin down from his mount, but eventually the older dwarf's boots hit the ground with a thud. Estel dismounted and, stroking his horse's soft mane, whispered something inaudible. Suddenly the horse dropped down onto its front knees in a strange bow. Fíli's heart jolted at the movement and he almost fell from the horse, but he didn't tell Estel that warning him first might have been more sensible. He slowly swung his right leg over the saddle and eased his feet onto the floor. Stabbing his crutches firmly into the ground, he pulled himself upright.

The hunting party left their horses tied to the outer trees and moved carefully into the forest. One by one, Kíli, Legolas, and the twins pulled an arrow from their quivers and held their bows out warily, not yet looking to aim. There were few animals that dared venture out in the winter, but the last time Kíli had ridden out they had come upon a few pheasants and a couple of confused rabbits. Though Fíli knew this was less about food, and more about archery, and ever since his hand had healed, Kíli had been itching to use his bow again. Their mother had also been strangely insistent about the trip, suggesting that Fíli accompany them as the fresh air would do him good, and he wasn't about to complain.

Moving behind the archers, Fíli kept his right foot off the ground, knowing he could be far quicker and quieter if he walked on one leg. His mother could scold him all she wanted later, but he didn't want to scare away their quarry with his shuffling. Dwalin stayed close to his side, armed to the teeth, and Estel was also shadowing his movements. When they reached a clearing, everyone came to a stop. In the silence that descended over them, Estel slowly reached down and picked up a small stone. The archers aimed at the trees, their eyes narrowed, and their fingers flexing around the fletching of their arrows. And then Estel threw the stone into the bushes. A flock of birds rose up with deafeningly frantic squawks and all arrows were released, whistling through the air, and they cut through the birds like a knife through butter.

Once the surviving birds had scattered to safety, the archers rushed forward to the bushes to claim their prizes with laughs and playful shoves. Kíli was the first to recover his target. He held up the skewered, feathery mess and waggled it at Fíli with a grin. Fíli smiled back, but then something caught his eye in the trees behind his brother. He heard the distant snap of twigs and saw a four-legged shadow moving around the edge of the clearing. Seeing his brother's wide eyes, Kíli pulled another arrow from his quiver and swung around in one fluid movement. In a flash, Legolas and the twins had followed suit. They heard the soft rustle of fallen leaves… and then an enormous black stag appeared in their midst.

"Don't shoot," Fíli breathed, his eyes locked on the animal.

He wasn't sure what made him say it, but no arrows were loosened. The strange creature came to a stop some way off from Fíli. He had never seen a stag with such a dark coat before and the ebony hair was flecked with silver. It stared at Fíli with an unnervingly intelligent look in its eyes. Barely daring to breathe, he watched as it slowly lowered its antlered head, as if it were bowing. He wanted to approach the beast, he even sensed an urge to speak to it, but then, all of a sudden, Fíli blinked… and the stag was gone.

* * *

**A/N: The little incident between Thorin and Arwen in the sickroom can be found at the end of Chapter Four of my fic, 'Family Tree'. The next update will in fact be the penultimate chapter, but please do let me know your thoughts on this one in the meantime! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so, so much for your amazing response to Chapter Sixteen – I just have such awesome and wonderfully loyal readers, and I seriously do appreciate you all taking the time out of your days to read this fic. Alas, the end is drawing near, but I'll save all my emotional rambling for the final chapter. Now, it's about time we heard more about Fíli and his Majestag. Oh, and trigger warning: copious amounts of shameless dwarfling fluff. Your ovaries have been warned…**

* * *

"Fíli?"

Fíli only just heard his name being called over the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and the voice sounded distant; detached almost. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the spot where the stag had stood only moments before and turned to find Kíli staring at him, his bow lowered. His brother's brown gaze was filled with concern, bordering on fearful… but something told Fíli that it wasn't the appearance of the strange beast that was worrying him.

"Fíli," Kíli tried again, his voice soft, but careful. "Are you all right?"

Fíli knitted his brows together at the unexpected question, and his eyes returned to the empty underbrush in front of him. "It just… _vanished_," he murmured.

"What did?"

Fíli rounded on his brother again, fixing him with an incredulous expression. "_What_?" he snapped. "That enormous stag!"

Kíli had gone unnervingly pale now. "Stag?" he asked quietly, his eyes flitting to Estel.

Fíli saw the others all exchanging uneasy expressions and felt his temper rising. "It was standing right there!" He gestured to the spot on the edge of the clearing with his crutch, grinding his teeth with frustration. "You must have seen it."

"We didn't see anything, Fíli," Kíli said, and his tone made Fíli bristle. It was as if he were talking to a child.

"But you followed it with your bow!" Fíli insisted, panic making his voice rise.

"I saw the look on your face," Kíli explained. "I was following your eyes."

Fíli turned again to stare at the empty space between the trees. Was he going mad? An ache had begun to spread from his temples as his heart continued its manic thumping… He knew what he had seen, or at least he thought he did. The stag had been too huge to be missed by anyone, and he could still picture it exactly; the glossy black coat streaked with shimmering lines of silver, and the enormous antlers branching out from the head it had held proudly aloft as it walked. Fíli could still see the way the muscles of its flanks had moved beneath the fur as it came to a stop before him… and he could have sworn its eyes were blue. A very familiar blue.

"What were you two thinking going galloping off like that?" Dwalin's growl dragged Fíli from his trance. He turned to see Dwalin advancing on Estel and Legolas, his eyes flashing black. "I knew it wouldn't be good for the lad… Now look what –"

"I'm not ill, Dwalin!" Fíli said tersely, his voice full of an authority he knew was being undercut by the present situation. But still Dwalin backed down, lowering his head by way of apology. "I… I just need to sit down," Fíli added; despite his declaration, he was starting to feel light-headed as he fought against the panic rising in his chest.

Dwalin immediately grabbed hold of the fallen tree trunk lying to his left. He wiped the snow from it and dragged it towards Fíli with disturbing strength. Fíli slowly lowered himself down onto the trunk. Dropping his crutches, his hands went to his face and he rubbed distractedly at his eyes. He felt the others closing in around him, and someone sat down at his side. Inhaling deeply, Fíli looked up to find that it was Estel, not Kíli, sitting beside him, and his brother was standing warily to his left, his hand poised to reach for his shoulder.

"Why don't the archers continue the hunt?" Estel suggested, breaking the tense silence that had descended over the clearing. "We will stay here whilst Fíli gets his bearings."

"No," came Kíli's automatic response. He moved closer to Fíli.

"Please, Kíli, I'll be all right," Fíli said, peering up at his brother with a shaky smile. "I don't want to ruin your hunting trip… And Bofur will be upset if we come back empty-handed."

Kíli didn't seem convinced and he continued to stare at Fíli, his eyes round with worry. But then a silent exchange passed between Estel and Elladan, and the dark-haired elf put a gentle hand on Kíli's shoulder, steering him away. Kíli reluctantly complied, and after one last look over his shoulder at Fíli, he followed his fellow archers and disappeared from the clearing.

"Here, have some water, lad."

Fíli turned to Dwalin who was holding his water pouch out for him. He took it gratefully, but paused before he lifted it to his lips. "This is just water, isn't it?" He wouldn't have put it past Óin to provide Dwalin with water laced with poppy milk or some other drug.

"Aye," Dwalin chuckled softly. "Just water."

"I wish it was ale," Fíli muttered, and then took a few long gulps.

Another strained silence fell over the clearing, and the air was beginning to feel very close, when Estel asked: "Will you tell us what you saw?"

Fíli lowered the water pouch and looked from Estel to Dwalin, wondering if they were just going to humour him… but the image of the stag was now burned into his mind, and he knew he wasn't ever going to forget it.

"I saw its shadow walking around the clearing before it came from the trees," Fíli whispered, his brow furrowed. "I heard the twigs breaking beneath its feet and the leaves rustling as it moved… You really didn't hear anything?"

He looked up, a faint flicker of hope in his eyes, but Dwalin slowly shook his head. His gaze swung back to Estel, who was studying him with his chin resting on his hand.

"It does not mean there was nothing there," Estel said carefully.

Confused, but somehow encouraged by Estel's statement, Fíli continued: "It was a stag… Largest I've ever seen… And it was black as night, with flecks of grey in its fur… I've never known deer with those colourings before." The stag materialised once again in Fíli's mind, and he could still picture every detail. "It had huge antlers and I'm sure its eyes were blue… dark blue… It _looked_ at me. Really looked at me… as if it knew who I was… And then it lowered its head… like it was bowing… But then it vanished."

Fíli's mind was racing as he relived the whole episode – which could have only lasted mere moments – and he felt curiously giddy as he remembered it all. But he also felt a blush creeping to his cheeks as he looked to Estel for his reaction, aware that these sounded like the ramblings of a madman. Estel's grey eyes were as impenetrable as his expression, and Fíli's stomach twisted as he waited for him to speak.

"Such visions are not uncommon amongst the Elven," Estel said finally. "Lord Elrond has experienced similar things." He paused, and something Fíli couldn't place flickered in his gaze. "Arwen too."

"So… you believe me?" Fíli ventured, fighting to keep his tone wary as his heart leapt. "And I'm not going mad?"

"Yes," Estel said, with a small smile. "And I do not think so."

Fíli's gaze returned to the forest floor, and before he could stop himself, the words were bursting from his lips: "It was Thorin… I know it was." In his heart he had known it since the stag first set foot in the clearing. He couldn't explain how he knew… he just did.

Dwalin tensed at his side, but said nothing. Estel, however, was still smiling. "I thought as much," he said quietly.

So many questions filled Fíli's mind, manically jostling for space, making his insides flutter with both excitement and a little trepidation. "What… What does it _mean_?" Fíli asked, struggling to channel the chaos in his head into only one question.

"Lord Elrond says it is foolish to go searching for explanations regarding visions," Estel answered softly. "They simply _are_, and nothing more… That being said, I do believe this was your uncle finding a way to reach you."

This was all Fíli needed to hear. His vision became blurred as his eyes returned to the edge of the clearing where the stag had stood before him… and he thought of the carvings he had found etched into Thorin's bedframe, and the presence in Thrór's bedchamber the night he had taken up the oak shield. Ever since Thorin's death, a connection had remained, and with the image of the stag's graceful bow fixed in his mind, Fíli finally understood the meanings of these messages. He realised then that Thorin had never really left him… and he never would.

* * *

One by one, the horses slowed as they reached the edge of the river. It had been frozen into warped plates of ice for the darkest weeks of winter, but now, with the slightest hint of spring in the air, the river had thawed and begun its journey over the ancient stones once again. Estel and Fíli made the crossing first, followed by Elrohir and Dwalin. Dwalin had been very quiet since the revelations in the clearing, and Fíli decided it was best to leave him to his thoughts. Elladan and Kíli came next, Kíli ensuring that the trip's bounty was still securely strapped to their saddle. The archers had come upon two rather fat rabbits that seemed to believe hibernation was a waste of time – time that could be spent eating. Kíli claimed the life of one, Legolas of the other. Bofur and Bombur were going to be thrilled. Fíli had decided that discussion of the stag with Kíli was best done in private, and so he had made no further mention of it to his brother. Fíli's unwavering smile put Kíli at ease and he had been content to talk only of the finer points of rabbit-stalking, though Fíli suspected he would be cornered as soon as they returned to their room.

With Legolas safely across, the party set off towards the Front Gate… where they could see many dwarfling-sized figures moving energetically across the snow. As they drew closer, laughter and excited shouts filled their ears, and Fíli grinned at the sight of two dozen dwarflings, all dressed in their thick winter furs, engaged in snowball fights and games of tig. Some were building snow-fortresses and others were moulding the snow into figures that resembled the two enormous statues which stood guard either side of the Gate.

The horses came to a stop and all riders dismounted; Estel warned Fíli this time before their horse dropped to its knees. Fíli steadied himself on his feet, planting his crutches firmly into the snow, and his eyes moved to the dwarrowdams who were keeping a close eye on their children from the edge of their games. They stood across from the returned hunting party, with snow-fortresses and figures between them, and waited for Fíli to straighten up before lowering their heads in silent, reverential acknowledgement. The dwarflings seemed to notice the new arrivals one by one, until their joyful cries alerted all their friends and the clumsy but heartfelt bowing began. Fíli was glad that most of the children were satisfied with their bows on the first try and almost immediately returned to their various games and activities. He knew he had endured many episodes of bowing over the past few weeks, but he wasn't sure he would ever get used to it; it all seemed very time-consuming and unnecessary.

"Kee!"

There was a flash of red and suddenly Kíli was lifting a tiny dwarfling into his arms and swinging her round. Elís was wearing a white fur coat that seemed a stark contrast to her curls of fiery hair; the sleeves were so thick that her arms stuck out at her sides. She struggled to wrap her small fist in Kíli's hair.

"And how are you this afternoon, little lady?" Kíli beamed, and Fíli had never seen his brother's eyes so bright.

Fíli sought out Elís' mother, Neri, amongst the group of dwarrowdams. She was standing a little apart from the group, intently watching her daughter, looking almost poised to follow her, but then deciding against it. Fíli felt an ache beginning to spread from his chest, and he looked away. He knew Kíli had been sneaking off to the nursery every chance he got, but whenever his brother questioned him he became moody and defensive, so Fíli let it alone. Part of him was just glad Kíli had found a distraction from everything.

He turned back to Kíli, only to find his brother grinning at him with an expression of undeniable mischief. "Elin is looking at you," he said slyly.

"Who?" Fíli asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Kíli rolled his eyes. "Tobi's aunt… She's been staring at you since you dismounted."

Fíli felt his stomach flip, and he wasn't really sure why. _Elin_. It was strange to realise that before that moment he hadn't even known her name. His gaze returned to the women, and without really meaning to, he found himself locking eyes with the young, dark-haired dwarrowdam who was indeed staring at him. Fíli froze and so did Elin. Even from a distance, he could see the deep blush creeping into her cheeks. Unsure of what to do, but panicking at Elin's obvious embarrassment, Fíli raised a hand in greeting and managed a smile. It took him all of two seconds to realise this wasn't the best move. Now all the dwarrowdams were staring and whispering to each other, their eyes jumping from him to Elin. Fíli realised then that waving wasn't very kingly, and he had in fact made the situation, and Elin's embarrassment, ten times worse.

Suitably mortified, Fíli quickly looked way, and then wished his eyes hadn't moved to Kíli, who seemed unable to contain his glee. He shifted Elís on his hip, and the red-haired dwarfling peered up at him. On seeing his grin, she immediately tried to mimic it, and turned to Fíli with a bright, toothy smile.

Fíli fixed his brother with a black stare. "If you utter one word, I will have you executed," he growled, which only made Kíli's grin widen.

Storming off wasn't the easiest thing to do on crutches, but Fíli put as much effort as possible into moving past Kíli and joining Estel and the twins by Elrohir's horse. The children had grown used to seeing the elves in the Mountain and so it wasn't a surprise that a few had approached the twins, asking if they could pet their horses. Elrohir's horse was a particularly placid mare, and it dutifully lowered its head so the dwarflings could stroke its muzzle and didn't flinch when they ruffled its dark grey mane. Fíli glanced over at the dwarrowdams, purposefully avoiding looking at Elin, and saw that they were watching the twins with hawkish eyes. He knew that if Elladan or Elrohir put one foot wrong, the mothers would spring into action, and Aulë help Elrond's sons if they did.

Fíli had seen Legolas standing warily at the edge of their party, but when his eyes moved to him again he found that the prince was no longer alone. A dwarfling with ringlets of black hair was staring up at him with enormous blue eyes, and Fíli sensed there was some impishness in her sweet smile. Transfixed by this enchanting child, Legolas smiled softly and took a step forward, holding out his hands to her. The dwarfling edged back, but continued to smile up at the blonde elf. Fíli realised he was right to question her innocence when he saw a group of children, led by Mikil, sneaking up behind Legolas, and they were armed with snowballs.

Now that their cleverly concocted distraction had worked, the dwarflings unleashed their fury and pelted the unsuspecting elf with snowballs. A few missed, and most hit Legolas' legs, but Mikil's snowball crashed into the back of the elf's head. Whirling round with strangled cries of Sindarin, Legolas heard only the dwarflings' riotous laughter as they bolted back to the safety of their snow fort, and when he turned the black-haired child had also vanished. Fíli wondered if he should send an envoy to Mirkwood to inform Thranduil that his son had just been outwitted by a band of dwarflings no higher than his knees.

Feeling that his integrity had been severely compromised, Legolas dropped down and began to fashion the snow into a perfect sphere in his hands.

"Legolas," Estel said in warning. He had been chuckling along with Fíli and the twins when Legolas was attacked, but he knew as well as Fíli did that the elf had impeccable aim, and as soon as an Elvish snowball hit a dwarfling, there would be all-out warfare.

"M-Mister King?"

Fíli jumped when he heard the familiar voice (and his preferred title). Hàri was standing right by his feet, staring up at him with a nervous smile, and he was joined by three equally shy dwarflings. He seemed to have been pushed to the front of the group as its elected speaker.

"Hello Hàri," Fíli smiled. He wished he could crouch in front of him, as Hàri and his companions seemed so small when he was peering down at them, but he wasn't sure his leg would allow it.

The dwarfling standing to Hàri's left nudged his shoulder. "We… We maked something for you," Hàri explained. He looked to the children behind him and they huddled together for a few moments, and when Hàri turned back to Fíli he was holding a carefully constructed ring of flowers. "We maked a crown… Because you don't have one yet."

Fíli couldn't help but grin as he inspected the gift, and he felt the corners of his eyes begin to prickle. The crown was made of snowdrops; their thin green stems knotted together and their soft white heads bunched a little unevenly around the ring. To Fíli it was perfect, and his mind was filled with thoughts of his and Kíli's childhood excitement whenever they found these flowers pushing through the snow; their appearance was always a sure sign that spring was on its way.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Fíli said, his eyes moving over the children who were all smiling bashfully. When Hàri held the crown up to him, Fíli quickly glanced around and saw that only Dwalin was left unoccupied. "Hàri, will you let Mister Dwalin pick you up so you can put it on my head?"

Dwalin's eyes became alert at the sound of his name. He moved to Fíli's side with a look of alarm matched by Hàri's own fearful expression. Knowing it would be an act of treason to refuse the King, Hàri nodded, though he continued to stare up at Dwalin in mild terror.

"Uh, all right," Dwalin grunted.

The dwarflings gave Dwalin a wide berth as he approached and looked at Hàri as if this might be the last time they ever saw him. Dwalin hitched his large, tattooed hands under Hàri's arms and jerked him up. He held him at arm's length, as if he were a bundle of mining explosives, and moved in front of Fíli. The little dwarfling furrowed his brow in concentration and then very carefully placed the crown upon Fíli's head.

* * *

Fíli's eyes jumped from the fire to the door when three loud raps sounded in the room. "Come in," he called, lowering his pipe.

The door slowly creaked open and Gandalf appeared, ducking under the doorframe as he entered. The wizard shut the door behind him and hesitated slightly before coming to join Fíli by the fire, slowly lowering himself into the sturdy wooden chair opposite Fíli's.

"I was wondering when I was going to be receiving a royal summons," Gandalf said, with a wry smile, his blue eyes full of their familiar twinkle. He reached into the deep pockets of his grey robes and produced his pipe and a box of matches.

Fíli watched the wizard light his pipe, unsure of how to reply. The last time he and Gandalf had spoken at any length had been in Rivendell… and memories of those conversations had proven particularly painful. He knew he had been avoiding Gandalf for some time, though he hadn't expected Gandalf to avoid him in return. In the early days of the tent encampment, Fíli, wounded and almost driven mad by grief, had told Kíli he didn't want Gandalf anywhere near him, and the wizard had heeded these words. Although many memories of the first days after the battle were hazy and incomplete, Fíli was sure his reasoning for spurning the wizard was related to his fear of the crown. He thought Gandalf would confront him with too many hard truths and try to talk him round. In the end it had been Estel who had done that.

Gandalf was staring into the fire, patiently puffing on his pipe, but Fíli knew he hadn't called the wizard to his room only for them to sit in silence. "How is Bard faring?" he asked quietly. He knew that Gandalf had been spending most of his time in Dale since Thranduil's departure.

"He is being kept busy, of course," Gandalf smiled. "They are doing their best to clear out the ruins, much as you are doing with Erebor… But the Master is not being especially helpful."

Fíli knew all about the continuing feud between Bard and the scheming Master of Lake-town. It only increased his disdain for politicians. Although, he had to admit that Dàin's councillors appeared to be behaving themselves as of late. They were clearly trying to avoid him and the company, but whenever their paths did cross their faces always blanched and their bows were ridiculously low and elaborate. It wasn't lost on Fíli that this change in their behaviour had come after the hunting trip… after the councillors had been left alone in the Mountain with his mother. He had decided not to say anything about it.

Gandalf choked a little on his pipe, but his eyes remained fixed on the quivering orange flames of the fire. Fíli was dragged from his thoughts and he felt his stomach clench. The question that had weighed heavily on his mind since the battle, since Thorin's death, presented itself again, and this time Fíli couldn't dismiss it. He knew it was the reason he had sent for the wizard.

"Did you know?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, and he could feel his fingers trembling around his pipe.

Gandalf's blue eyes slowly moved from the fire and came to rest on Fíli, but he stayed silent and waited for the young dwarf to elaborate.

"When you tried to give me the key and the map in Rivendell," Fíli continued, trying to push the waver out of his voice. "When you spoke to me of my birth right… Did you know my uncle was going to die?"

Gandalf studied Fíli for a long time, his expression unreadable, before letting out a low, soft sigh. "No, I did not," he answered slowly. "But I was afraid. Thorin's sheer will and determination unsettled me, and if he were to die, I did not want the whole quest to have been in vain." A small smile appeared on his lips. "But when I left Rivendell, I was no longer afraid. Some small things gave me courage."

Fíli felt the corner of his mouth twitch, and he lowered his head in understanding. He thought of everything Gandalf had said to him in Rivendell, everything he had done to help, and even though Fíli had fought against it and cursed the wizard, he now found himself beyond grateful. "Thank you," he murmured.

"There is no need to thank me, my dear Fíli," Gandalf said gently, leaning forward in his chair. "You did all the hard work yourself… All I did was give you a little nudge in the right direction."

* * *

Fíli mouthed his thanks when Kíli returned to his side with a tankard of ale. He drank deeply as his brother settled next to him, and they soaked in the contented after-supper atmosphere of the company's fire. The Entrance Hall camp was quiet as the evening drew on and the meal-time rush subsided… but then the hush was suddenly shattered by a shriek coming from the east archway. Fíli and Kíli twisted around simultaneously to see three dwarrowdams arriving in the Hall, two supporting the third between them, and judging from her incredibly swollen belly, Fíli guessed that she was very pregnant. The auburn-haired dwarrowdam let out another high-pitched wail and her companions called for help.

"Neda!"

There was a thundering of footsteps and a young dwarf rushed passed the company's fire to join the dwarrowdams, his face almost white. He put a hand to Neda's flushed cheek and then looked around in a panic.

"Óin."

Fíli jumped when he heard his mother's voice; Dís was on her feet and she moved, calmly and purposefully, to Neda and her husband, with Óin quickly following.

"Sh-She isn't due for another two weeks!" the dwarf cried, when Dís came to his side.

"Well the baby obviously doesn't agree," Dís replied evenly. "We'll take her to my room. She won't want the whole camp hearing what's to come."

The dwarf looked stricken at the idea. "But my lady –"

"Kestri!" Neda ground out, and her expression was livid. It clearly communicated that seen as Kestri was not about to give birth, he didn't have a say in where it would take place, or the right to refuse his wife a bed.

Kestri recoiled under Neda's hard green eyes, and hastily nodded. He relieved the dwarrowdam at her left side and slipped her arm around his shoulders.

"Bofur, we're going to need hot water and towels," Dís said, moving back to the company's fire as Óin disappeared into his tent.

"Of course, my lady!" Bofur replied, jumping to his feet. He signed something to Bifur and quickly began to fill the newly-scrubbed cooking pot with clean water.

Óin reappeared with his medicine chest and followed the group disappearing through the west archway, towards the upper corridor and Dís' room. Fíli and Kíli stared after them, their mouths slightly agape, as a shocked silence descended over the Entrance Hall. Fíli couldn't help but feel admiration for his mother and the way she took control of the situation. In Ered Luin she was a widely-respected matriarchal figure, and this often required her to play the role of healer and midwife as well as leader and mother.

It was a long time before anyone spoke, but finally Balin murmured: "I didn't realise any of the dwarrowdams were with child. I don't think I've ever seen her before."

"And she's a little hard to miss," Kíli grinned, his pipe between his lips.

Fíli gave his brother a shove. "You're lucky she didn't hear you say that."

Kíli smirked and silence returned. Fíli was draining his tankard of ale when Kíli nudged his arm. Looking at his brother questioningly, Fíli then followed his gaze and saw Kestri standing by the west archway, looking as pale and bewildered as was expected from a father-to-be. He peered around the Entrance Hall, aware that everyone was staring, but didn't seem to know quite what to do with himself.

"Kestri, will you come and sit with us?" Fíli asked, raising his voice so Kestri could hear, but trying not to sound too forceful.

Kestri almost jumped out of his skin at being addressed, but he edged closer to the company's fire and gave an awkward bow. "I… I don't want to disturb, your majesty," he said quietly, fidgeting with his coat.

"We're happy to have you, please sit," Fíli smiled, gesturing to a free bench beside Balin.

Kestri bowed again and, after some hesitation, took a seat by the fire. Fíli studied their company's latest addition and realised that he could only be a few years older than himself. His dark brown beard was closely cut and finished in a short braid at the tip of his chin. He had no beads in his hair or piercings to speak of, and from his thick accent, not dissimilar to Bofur's, Fíli guessed Kestri was not of a high-born family… which seemed to explain his obvious horror at finding himself sat opposite Fíli with his wife lying in Dís' chambers.

"Get the lad some ale," Dwalin said gruffly. He didn't know much about children and fatherhood, but he did know when a dwarf needed a tankard in his hand.

"How is she?" Fíli asked kindly, as Kestri accepted ale from Bombur.

"Scared… your majesty," Kestri replied, after a pause. "It's her first and we didn't really know what…" He seemed to lose his train of thought and then added, almost absentmindedly: "She, er, did threaten to kill me a couple of times."

"Oh, I remember the death threats," Glóin said, with a fond chuckle.

Fíli also remembered the birth of Glóin's son, Gimli, as if it were yesterday. He had been twenty at the time and left in charge of Kíli as their mother was helping in the birthing room. The labour had been a long and difficult one, and when he and Kíli had been waiting outside the door, hoping for a glimpse of their new cousin, all they had heard for several hours had been increasingly graphic descriptions of how Glóin's wife would bring about her husband's demise if she ever lived through this.

"I… I told her not to come," Kestri said, staring rather forlornly down at the tankard between his knees. "I told her she shouldn't be leaving the Hills with her time so close… I got my cousin to write her and let her know I'd make sure I was back in time… But she came anyway."

"The lass will've been worried about you," Bofur said sympathetically, taking the cooking pot of water off the boil.

"Aye," Balin agreed, putting a gentle hand on Kestri's shoulder. "But she's got youth on her side and is in the best possible hands, so don't you worry yourself."

Kestri nodded slowly and managed a nervous smile. Bofur disappeared through the west archway with the steaming water and Bifur followed close behind with as many towels as he could carry. Fíli's eyes flitted to the other end of the company's fire and saw that Dori, Nori, and Ori were purposefully busying themselves. Ori's head was buried in his sketchbook and his quill moved frantically across the page. Fíli felt his heart contract a little in his chest as he watched the brothers. Everyone knew that Ori's mother had died giving birth to him; she was older than the typical child-bearing age, and had been warned that a third child might kill her, but she was determined to bring Ori into the world. The scribe had been unexpectedly small and the healers told his father, already consumed with grief, that he wouldn't survive the night. But Dori wouldn't accept that. With his father refusing to leave his mother's bedside, Dori had sat up with his new brother, keeping him warm, and coaxing milk into him with a tiny bottle. Ori made it through until morning, and after a week or so in Dori's care, he reached a healthy weight. Fíli supposed this was why Dori was so protective of his youngest brother, and when their father died only a couple of years after their mother, Dori became the only parent Ori had ever known.

The night wore on and one by one members of the company disappeared into their tents, only to return again a couple of hours later, asking if there was any news. Fíli and Kíli stayed up with Kestri, lending him their pipes, and asking him about his family and life in the Iron Hills. Around midnight, the Rivendell party made an appearance. They had retired to their rooms on the guard corridor after supper, but having finally been made aware of the excitement, all save Arwen – who had gone straight to Dís' room – joined those left by the fireside. The arrival of the elves did little for Kestri's nerves, and Fíli was sure he had never actually seen an elf before the battle, but he showed them the same awkward but well-meaning politeness he had shown the company.

Kíli was beginning to nod off against Fíli's shoulder when they finally heard footsteps in the west passageway. Fíli gave his brother a prod just as their mother appeared, and though she looked worn out and slightly flustered, she was beaming.

"Kestri?" she said gently.

Kestri spun around and hastily struggled to his feet. "My lady?"

"Someone is desperate to meet his da."

"_His_?" Kestri whispered.

"Aye, it's a boy," Dís smiled. "He's small, but he's healthy, and Neda is doing well."

A cheer rose from the company and then everyone was up, clapping Kestri on the back and shaking his hand. Kestri was grinning from ear to ear and seemed sufficiently overwhelmed by it all, but he eventually managed to break away from the fireside and follow Dís back to her room.

Fíli stared after him, unable to stop smiling, as the company returned to their seats with ecstatic, but comically loud whispers. Fíli was sure they had woken the whole camp when they cheered anyway.

"Just think," Kíli said, his voice barely passing for a whisper. "This is the first baby to be born in Erebor for over a hundred and fifty years!"

He turned to grin at Fíli. Fíli continued to smile as his mind turned to the cycles that were being played out before him. There had been death, but now there was also new life; he thought of the crown of snowdrops and the promise of spring, of the black stag and the child whose first home would never be taken from him.

"Fíli!"

Fíli was pulled from his thoughts when Kíli called his name and he saw that Kestri had appeared in the Hall, holding a tiny bundle of blankets. Despite the dwarves rushing to meet him, he made a beeline for Fíli, approaching him with his son clutched to his chest.

"Your majesty? Would… Would you mind giving him your royal blessing?" Kestri asked, with an anxious smile.

"Er, of course," Fíli replied, though a little taken back; he had absolutely no idea what a royal blessing entailed.

Kestri's smile widened and he carefully held his son out to Fíli. Fíli took the impossibly small babe in his arms, making sure he supported his head, and looked down at the soft, crinkled face framed by the thick blankets. The child didn't stir and continued to sleep soundly, and Fíli could feel his little chest rising and falling against him.

"What's his name?" Fíli asked, reluctantly tearing his eyes from the enchanting dwarfling to look up at Kestri.

Kestri shifted his feet. "Neda and I… We, er, were wondering if, with your family's permission, of course… we could name him 'Thorin', after your uncle?"

The smile that automatically jumped to Fíli's lips gave him his answer. With his heart beginning a jubilant thump inside his chest, he looked to Dís and Kíli standing at his side. Kíli gave him a lopsided grin and Dís lowered her head, her blue eyes shining.

"Of course," Fíli said, mirroring Kíli's grin. His eyes returned to the dwarfling in his arms and he reached out, slowly smoothing the single curl of black hair from his forehead. "Thorin," he whispered, and then – Fíli later wondered if he had imagined it – but he swore the babe's tiny pink lips twitched into the softest smile.

* * *

**A/N: OK, apologies for this chapter of utter fluff, but I thought I owed it to you all after several months of angst! I'm off to Milan for a week, but I promise the FINAL chapter of 'Bring Them Home' will be posted when I return. Until then, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter! **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hey everyone! Firstly, I just want to thank the wonderful Mhyin for drawing another beautiful piece of fanart for this fic. Her illustration for Chapter Seventeen can be found at mhyin. tumblr. com under the 'Fanfiction Art' tab – please do go and check out her work! Right… so, this is it: the final chapter of 'Bring Them Home'! I'll save my end-of-an-era ramblings for the author's note at the end of this chapter, and for now I'll just start you off with three songs that make up Fíli's coronation playlist:**

'**Home' by Gabrielle Aplin**

'**Lanterns' by Birds of Tokyo **

'**Welcome Home' by Radical Face**

* * *

Fíli ran a finger along the newly-polished stone, tracing a line of gold printed there by the sun that was tumbling through one of the many openings in the ceiling of the Throne Room. Erebor's enormous Throne Room was located high up in the Mountain, well above the Entrance Hall, and it was one of the only rooms which was illuminated by natural light. Windows, filled with both clear and coloured glass, had been carved out of the cavernous canopy of the Mountain, and so spring sunlight fell freely into the Throne Room, which had been fastidiously scrubbed, buffed, and furbished in preparation for tomorrow's coronation.

The sun was reaching its highest point in the sky and Fíli watched as lines of golden light flickered on the green-tinted stone walkways and towering pillars that surrounded him. This glittering combination of green and gold seemed a fitting representation of the spring that was fast progressing, and a reminder that they had now left the thaw far behind. The snow had given up its ghosts and slowly slipped away from the Mountain, trickling down the rock to join the water of the River Running, thus borne away to the south.

Closing his eyes, Fíli tilted his head up, savouring the warmth of the sun on his face which contrasted with the cool stone pressed against his back. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there when he heard soft footsteps sounding in one of the passageways to the west of the Throne Room. Fíli opened his eyes just as Estel appeared in the shadows of the archway opposite him, and even the dim light couldn't hide his smile.

"Kíli told me I would find you here," Estel said, by way of greeting.

He moved into the light of the walkway, the sun reflected in his grey eyes, and came to join Fíli, who was sitting on the stone floor, leaning against the side of the throne.

"I am sure no one would object to you sitting on your throne," Estel commented, looking pointedly from the vacant throne to Fíli resting beside it.

"I'm not King yet," Fíli replied, smirking up at Estel.

Estel opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. He made to sit down on the floor next to Fíli, who hastily moved his walking cane to his other side to make space. Estel's eyes lingered on the cane as he settled himself against the throne, and Fíli understood why. The cane was hardly inconspicuous; it was made from a rich, dark wood, beautifully carved, and covered with a pattern which featured Fíli's sigil overlaid with Khuzdul inscriptions. The fact that it was studded with rubies and sapphires also made it a little hard to miss.

"A gift from Dàin," Fíli explained. "I think he meant it as some sort of peace offering."

"That is quite a peace offering," Estel grinned, and Fíli couldn't help but grin too. The cane was indeed far more spectacular than the one he had been using since his crutches were finally laid to rest.

"I hear your cousin has dismissed his entire council?" Estel said quietly, after a moment of easy silence.

"Aye, it seems Dàin has finally come to his senses," Fíli mused. "His new councillors are all soldiers from his army… He chose the ones with some political experience of course, but I think he values the fact that they know how war works… and how to respect their superiors." He gave Estel a sly sideways glance.

"And how are you faring with _your_ new council?" Estel asked, turning to study Fíli intently.

"It's all a bit new to me," Fíli admitted, the smile in his eyes rather than on his lips. "But I'm sure I can whip them into shape."

Estel let out a low chuckle. Fíli had only chaired one council meeting so far, but the members of the company had taken to their new offices with great enthusiasm. Balin was doing a sterling job as head-councillor and Ori, who had the privilege of being the youngest member of the King's Council ever recorded, had greatly enjoyed writing up the minutes of the meeting in painstaking detail. Only Dwalin had refused a place on the council, but Fíli understood his reasoning; he was a warrior through and through, not a politician. And so, after Fíli's coronation, he would take up his appointment as Captain of the Kingsguard. Dís, although initially reluctant, had agreed to join her son's council in Dwalin's place. It was the first time since the beginning of the Second Age that a dwarrowdam had been appointed to the King's Council, but Fíli wouldn't take no for an answer.

Fíli and Estel sat in silence for a long time, both leaning their faces towards the sun, and Fíli's thoughts moved from the past, to the future, and back again. Images of his impending coronation flooded his mind, and then he retraced his steps on the path that had brought him to this point, pausing over so many moments that he could now quite literally see in a new light.

"Lady Arwen knew, didn't she?" Fíli whispered, his eyes moving to Estel. Estel furrowed his brow, and so he elaborated: "She knew about my coronation… about how this would end. She saw something. That's why she came to me, isn't it?"

Estel stared at Fíli for a few long moments, his mouth slightly agape in either shock or awe. It had taken Fíli a long time to piece together the information to draw this conclusion; but after his encounter with the stag in the forest, and something Estel had said in the clearing, everything had finally fallen into place.

"Yes," Estel answered slowly, and the warmth in his voice suggested he was genuinely impressed with Fíli's deduction. "Arwen glimpsed your future… But we were not sure if you were ready to hear it at the time, and so she was careful not to be too explicit."

Fíli nodded, satisfied. An element of curiosity remained, but he sensed there was no need to pry any further… It would all be revealed in time anyway. He leant back against the throne and suddenly a memory flashed before his eyes; the main vault, the blackness barely broken by sparse candles, sitting against Thorin's tomb with Estel… They had travelled far together, from a place of darkness, to this place of light, and Fíli was still a little in awe of Estel's wisdom and understanding.

"You know so much," Fíli murmured. "But you're still so… _young_." It was the first time he had ever felt the need to point out Estel's age; it had never seemed relevant the whole time they had known each other.

Estel considered Fíli quietly for a while, and then shifted back against the throne, a distant look in his eyes. "After Lord Elrond revealed my true identity to me, I left Rivendell for a time… I travelled far, across the whole of Middle Earth, trying to understand what it meant to be an heir… to be a king."

Estel paused for a moment, but Fíli knew he had much more to say, and so he remained silent, content to listen.

"I came to Rohan and spent some time in Edoras with King Fengel," Estel continued. "I did not learn much from Fengel about the makings of a good king… but in fact a lot about the makings of a bad one. He was consumed with greed and did little for his people, and he drove his son, Thengel, away. I went to join Thengel in Gondor, and I learnt more about what it takes to rule from him than I ever did from his father."

"And Thengel has made a good king?" Fíli asked, unable to deny his interest in this talk of princes and kings.

"He will," Estel smiled. "But for now Fengel still sits on the throne. One day soon, Thengel will have to return to Rohan and take up the crown that is rightfully his."

Fíli was beginning to draw comparisons, and Estel obviously saw the question written on Fíli's face as he spoke again, sounding a little more on edge than he had before: "I then became a guest of the Elvenking in Mirkwood… I realise that Thranduil has many faults, but he is still a fine king. He cares deeply for his people and will do all in his power to protect them… After a summer in the Woodland Realm, I finally returned to Rivendell, and found the Rangers of the North waiting for me."

Estel fell silent and Fíli could sense the tension blooming between them. He knew this was a subject Estel would rather not discuss; he remembered the first time they had met in Rivendell, when Estel had hastily brushed aside any question of his own throne… But still Fíli found that he couldn't simply let it lie.

"You know the workings of kingship better than anyone I have ever known," Fíli said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And you helped me when no one else could… But still you refuse your crown?"

"I am not needed in Gondor, I am needed in the North," Estel replied evenly.

"One day Gondor will need you."

They had reached an impasse, and Fíli felt a sickly twist in his stomach. He sensed he had pushed Estel too far and knew he had no right to ask such things of him. Not wanting to argue and afraid he had caused insult, Fíli looked to Estel with regret. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice full of self-reproach.

For one agonising moment, Estel didn't react at all, but then a smile broke out on his lips and he put a comforting hand on Fíli's shoulder. "You may be right," he said, his grey eyes shining. "But Gondor will not need me this day or the next, and that is all my concern for now."

Fíli lowered his head, acknowledging that this was the end of the matter. They returned to an easier silence, and Fíli's thoughts once again lingered over his future.

"How long will you stay in Erebor after the coronation?" he asked tentatively, though he already knew the answer.

"For as long as I am needed," came the reply.

It was as Fíli expected, but still his stomach sank a little. He knew that once he was crowned, Estel would feel his presence was no longer required; he had achieved all he had set out to do and all he had been sent for… But Fíli couldn't begin to describe how much he was going to miss him, and everyone who had ridden out from Rivendell in the winter snows.

Knowing there was only one thing left to say, Fíli turned to Estel, his blue eyes bright. "I'll never be able to thank you enough," he said, his voice swelling with emotion. "For coming here… For being so patient with me… And for looking after Kíli when I couldn't." He drew in a shivering breath, and then smiled. "Thank you, Estel… Thank you for everything."

* * *

Fíli started when he heard footsteps outside the door and tore his eyes away from the basin of now-cold water. He hadn't been staring at the basin for any reason in particular; only lost in his thoughts as he leant against the table. The door slowly creaked open and Kíli slipped into their room, greeting Fíli with a grin. He was dressed for the occasion, outfitted in a finely tailored blue tunic and long coat with just the hint of a fur trim. His sigil had been stitched in glittering thread, running in a continuous pattern along the hems of his robes, and even his new soft-leather boots, with all their glinting buckles, bore his initial. On his head sat an intricately crafted circlet of silver.

"Why, Prince Kíli, you do scrub up well!" Fíli said, smirking as he straightened up.

"If only I could say the same for you, your majesty," Kíli replied; he was close enough for Fíli to give him a playful shove and soon they were both chuckling.

"Mama has actually been fussing over me," Kíli complained; it seemed his return to the room was an act of escape. "Just you watch, she'll start cooing over us next!"

Fíli gave his brother a sympathetic smile, sharing in his pain. Dís had never been an overbearing mother and was not one to fuss, but the coronation seemed to have brought out some belated maternal instincts in her. She had woken her sons at an appalling hour that morning to make sure they were up and bathed before dawn. Their protests were met with the threat that if they weren't out of bed in five minutes she would bath them as if they were dwarflings again and scrub them to within an inch of their lives. That had made them move. But it also meant there had been many hours of the morning with nothing to do but wait, and it was driving Fíli to distraction.

"Are you all right?" Kíli asked carefully, studying Fíli with evident concern.

Fíli had guessed he wouldn't be able to hide his anxiety from Kíli; his brother knew him too well. "Nervous," he admitted. "I might fall flat on my face before I even reach the throne…" A glance at the elaborate cane gripped in his right hand indicated the source of his worry.

"You won't," Kíli reassured him, though the twist in his lips indicated the laugh he was trying desperately to suppress. "Even if you do, you'll get right back up again… and it'll be within your power to lop the head off anyone who so much as sniggers."

Fíli nodded, but an element of uncertainty combined with last-minute nerves continued to play on his mind. "Supposing I don't fall… I could still be a terrible king."

Kíli sighed and placed a gentle hand on Fíli's shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he said quietly. "You will be a good king."

It was the third time Kíli had made this pronouncement. The first time had been in Rivendell, when they were sitting out on the balcony of the sickroom, and Fíli had silenced his brother, telling him he knew nothing. The second time they were in Fíli's tent, the day after Thorin's death, and from the blackest pits of grief, Fíli's fury had returned with a vengeance. But now he was finally ready to trust Kíli's judgement, and he wouldn't contradict him. If the past few months had shown him anything, it was that his little brother knew everything that was worth knowing… and Fíli would never question him again.

A smile indicated Fíli's acceptance and Kíli made to move away, but then Fíli grabbed his arm. "You never gave up on me," he whispered, his throat feeling tight as his fingers closed around Kíli's coat. "I shouted at you and pushed you away… But you never gave up."

"Of course I didn't," Kíli replied, his own voice sounding strained as he placed his hands on Fíli's shoulders. "I made you a promise, Fíli… I was going to do everything I could to make sure I didn't break it."

They bowed their heads together until their foreheads were touching, and Fíli felt his eyes begin to sting. "You saved my life," he said hoarsely, biting down on his lip as his vision blurred.

"Just as you've saved mine," Kíli replied. "Repeatedly, I might add."

The brothers shared a small laugh, but Fíli could hear the shudder in Kíli's voice just as surely as he heard it in his own. "Thank you," he gasped out, the words breaking in his mouth. It seemed such a simple thing to say, but Fíli meant it more than he had ever meant anything else in his life.

"Oh, don't be daft," Kíli grinned, though his brown eyes were cloudy with tears as he pulled Fíli into an embrace, resting his chin on his shoulder. "I'm your brother; it's all part of the service."

Fíli smiled weakly, wrapping an arm around Kíli's back, though careful to keep his balance with his cane still gripped in his right hand. "I'm so glad you're here with me," he murmured into Kíli's freshly-combed hair.

"Me too. And you know I always will be," Kíli said firmly. "Never left you, never will."

Fíli held Kíli closer and there was a long moment of silence before Kíli straightened up, looking his brother over with a critical eye. "Now come on, it's your coronation – you're not allowed to cry!" he said, with a teasing smirk.

Fíli nodded again, returning the smirk, and hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his free hand. He was about to reply when there came a gentle knock at their door.

"Come in!" Fíli called, feeling the knot of nerves in his chest tighten.

The door swung open to reveal Dís standing in the corridor, looking every bit the mother of the future king in her midnight blue robes with silver beads glinting in her dark, braided hair like stars. Her gaze swept over her two sons and suddenly she was beaming; the pride that lit up her blue eyes was unmistakable. To Fíli an age seemed to pass before she spoke, but finally she stepped into the room and whispered: "It's time."

* * *

Fíli forced his eyes to follow the lines of the elaborate pattern carved into the doors before him, trying to focus his mind in an attempt at easing the fluttering in his stomach. He was standing in front of the main entrance to the Throne Room, waiting for the heralding trumpets that would signal the opening of the doors and his arrival before his people. Kíli and Dís had left him a few minutes ago to take their places on the throne platform, and so he was alone in the corridor with only his manic heartbeat for company. He flexed the fingers of his right hand around the handle of his walking cane and the fingers of his left around the oak shield, just to ensure he still had feeling in them. At least with both hands occupied he was unable to distractedly tug on his robes as Kíli had been doing all morning. His brother felt that his sleeves were too short; but Fíli couldn't complain. His deep red tunic fit him perfectly and he was particularly fond of the matching coat with generous amounts of shimmering, brown fur trim. As Kíli's clothes had been adorned with stitched silver details, so too had his been seen to with plentiful amounts of gold thread and you could see his sigil from every angle.

Shifting slightly in his boots, Fíli felt one of his throwing knives pressing into his ankle and smiled. His mother had insisted that it wasn't necessary for him to be armed to the teeth at his coronation, but Fíli had persuaded her that the knives in his boots and behind his vambraces were an integral part of his attire. Besides, they made him feel more comfortable – more like himself. They weren't the only weapons he was carrying anyway; his twin falchions were no longer strapped to his back, but hanging on either side of his belt in ceremonial fashion in purposefully crafted gold sheaths. He was peering down at them, absent-mindedly wondering if they were going to be a pain, banging against his legs as he walked, when the first trumpet sounded.

Almost jumping out of his skin, Fíli immediately straightened up and sucked in the deepest breath he could manage. Before his mind had time to truly panic, the doors were suddenly thrown open and the chorus of heralds rose up to a crescendo. Fíli found his feet automatically carrying him forward and he stepped out onto the main walkway that led to the throne. There were soldiers lining either side of the walkway and they stamped their feet to attention as he approached, moving passed the heralds by the doors. As the last note of the trumpets died away, the singing began. Every voice was lifted up in celebration, and the Ancient Dwarvish coronation hymn to welcome the new king filled the Mountain. It was a song that had not been sung for centuries, but still its words had been passed down from generation to generation in the hopes that it would one day be sung again.

The jubilant chorus made Fíli's chest swell and all of a sudden his anxiety evaporated. The surging rhythm of the song helped him find his stride and he made his way down the soldier-lined stone path towards the throne without fear. The crowds were gathered mostly below the walkway and, glancing down at them, Fíli saw that they were staring up at him as they sang, their faces full of love and trust… and absolute faith in him as their chosen king. It made his breath catch in his throat and brought an unbelievable brightness to his blue eyes.

As he continued towards his destination, Fíli caught sight of the red-haired brothers, Regin and Regur, whom he had first met in the infirmary, standing in full armour with the other soldiers on the walkway. Regin had been subjected to the same intensive training routine set out by Óin and the other healers as Fíli, and now they were both back on their feet. The brothers grinned at Fíli as he passed, and though his eyes remained focused on a point straight ahead of him, he still smiled. He had also glimpsed Grefur the Grouch, not standing with any of his patients or fellow healers, but almost lost amongst crowds beneath the walkway, distinguished only by his bald head. Fíli noted that for once the head-healer wasn't actually frowning, but appeared joyfully indifferent as he mumbled along to the coronation anthem. A double-take confirmed that Kestri was standing in front of him with Neda at his side, their son, Thorin, miraculously undisturbed by the music, was sleeping in her arms.

Now that he was nearing the throne, Fíli could properly take in the full picture of everyone assembled there. The company, along with Dís, Dàin, and his wife, Thresi, were gathered on the right side of the platform, with Kíli and Dís standing closest to the throne. They were all dressed in their finest clothes, and Bilbo looked especially dapper in his custom-made waistcoat. Only Dwalin looked slightly uncomfortable in his new attire – which seemed to be a little tight across his shoulders – but the fact that his axes, Grasper and Keeper, were still strapped to his back appeared to ease his discomfort. The Rivendell party and Legolas stood, immaculately outfitted, to the left of the throne. Elves had never before been present at the coronation ceremony of a Dwarven king, let alone been allowed pride of place next to the throne, but Fíli wouldn't hear of anything else; it was a position well-deserved and he wanted them by his side on this most important day. Fíli's eyes met Estel's and identical smiles jumped to their lips. He was impressed that Estel's smile didn't falter when Lady Arwen took his hand and only a barely perceptible blush darkened his cheeks.

Gandalf was standing neither to the right nor the left of the throne, but on the steps directly before it. The wizard was the obvious choice to preside over the ceremony and so he was waiting for Fíli at the end of the walkway, preparing to welcome him onto the throne. But Gandalf didn't quite complete the tableau. His eyes moving from the wizard to Kíli and Dís behind him, Fíli could clearly imagine another figure standing with them. In his mind's eye, he saw Thorin standing between his sister and his youngest nephew, and he was smiling. Fíli saw his uncle how he always wanted to remember him; dressed for the occasion in his usual midnight blue, without a scratch on his face, his expression free from pain, and his dark blue eyes bright with the happiness and peace so rare in his life that he had now truly found. Whenever Fíli thought of Thorin, he would not think of the battlefield, he would think of this moment. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the oak shield as he returned his uncle's smile.

Finally reaching the end of the walkway, Fíli came to a stop before Gandalf, relieved he had a moment to catch his breath before the singing faded. As the last verse of the coronation hymn came to an end, Fíli thought he spotted a familiar flash of red hair. Turning, he found that Neri and Elís were watching from the balcony to his left, Elís balanced on her mother's hip, her large blue eyes round with excitement. With a jolt, Fíli also recognised Tobi, sitting on his father's shoulders with his mother at their side, and next to her stood… Elin was staring at him. Of course she was. Everyone was staring at him. Panicking, Fíli found that he was frozen on the spot and couldn't look away. But then Elin smiled a rather wry smile and slowly lifted her hand in greeting. Fíli understood that she was returning the favour and found it in himself to grin… and then Gandalf coughed.

His eyes darting back to the wizard, Fíli felt his face grow hot and the song-less silence was deafening. Focusing on the matter at hand, he gave himself a mental kick, and then carefully lowered himself onto one knee before Gandalf. He had been practicing this part of the ceremony for days to ensure he could kneel and return to his feet smoothly with some sense of grace. Once his good knee was settled on the cool stone, he peered up at the wizard.

"Fíli, son of Dís, heir of Durin," Gandalf began, his voice looming large and echoing around the Throne Room. "Are you willing to take the sacred oath of your people and thus be crowned King Under the Mountain?"

Fíli inhaled deeply and answered with a voice that resounded around the ancient stone of the Mountain: "I am willing."

A soft smile appeared on Gandalf's lips. "Then come, Fíli, and be seated," he said, his voice quieter, and he held an arm open towards the throne.

Fíli slowly rose to his feet and approached the throne. Hearing his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he turned and settled himself into the stone seat of his forefathers. Now facing the crowds, he found every single pair of eyes was watching him intently, but despite the unnerving nature of such focus, he felt nothing but warmth and affection for them. Balancing the oak shield in his lap and keeping his cane planted on the floor before him, Fíli's eyes returned to Gandalf.

"Fíli, son of Dís." Gandalf's voice was once again loud enough for all to hear as he began the oath. "In the name of Durin, will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the united kingdoms of Ered Luin and Erebor according to their laws and customs?"

"I solemnly swear to do so," came Fíli's reply, his voice raised to match Gandalf's.

Gandalf continued: "And will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will," Fíli answered, without hesitation.

"And will you to your power protect your people and undertake all actions selflessly, serving them as they serve you?"

"I will."

Gandalf's light blue eyes shone as he sealed the oath with a blessing delivered in impeccable Khuzdul. He then turned to Balin, who was holding open an ornate wooden chest. Inside it, nestled in dark velvet, lay the crown. Balin had always been the keeper of the crown. He had recovered it in the bloody aftermath of the Battle of Azanulbizar which had claimed the life of Thrór, the last King Under the Mountain to be crowned. Carrying it with him all the way to Ered Luin, and then again when retracing his steps back to the Lonely Mountain, Balin always had faith that one day it would again be placed upon the head of an heir of Durin. Fíli looked to Balin as Gandalf lifted the crown from the chest, and Balin winked at him, the look in his eyes saying all there was left to say.

Gandalf positioned himself before Fíli, holding the crown above his head in both hands, and Fíli's breath caught in his throat. He managed to sneak a glance at Kíli and his mother, standing to his right. Dís' blue eyes were shining with silent tears and Kíli was grinning from ear to ear. His eyes once again moving to Gandalf, Fíli drew in another deep breath and smiled. He was ready.

Gandalf carefully placed the crown upon Fíli's head and cleared his throat. His voice then rang out, so loud it seemed to make the Mountain itself shudder: "In the sight of Aulë and all the children of Durin, I now proclaim you Fíli Oakenshield, Lord of Erebor, and King Under the Mountain."

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'll have you know I'm sobbing like a baby right now. Tears that are probably long overdue considering the amount of emotional trauma I've put you all through, I know! So, here ends 'Bring Them Home'. It has been one hell of a journey, folks, and I cannot thank you all enough for coming along for the ride. Whether you joined me at the beginning or part way through this story, it just means the absolute world to me that you're here at the end. To every single person who has ever read, reviewed, followed, or favourited this fic – THANK YOU! Seriously, your support has been invaluable and I owe you what little sanity I have. When I first started writing 'Bring Them Home' I was just about to enter my final term at university and I thought I was making one huge mistake, but I now realise it was one of the best decisions I ever made. You guys have made me ridiculously happy and got me through one of the most difficult periods in my life, so thank you all for everything. **

**Now, I will be posting my AU timeline as an appendix for this fic in the next couple of days. This will mostly deal with Fíli and Kíli's romantic relationships and their children, as well as new takes on events surrounding the War of the Ring. But I'm afraid I have to stress that I won't be writing a sequel, and this may be my last chapter of fanfiction for a while. I begin my teacher training in September and will be on a full-time placement until June, so unfortunately I will be hanging up my pen for the duration. That being said, if any of you have any questions regarding my 'Bring Them Home' headcanons and what happens after Fíli's coronation, please do drop me a PM and I will happily ramble away about this AU. **

**Right, I think that's everything. All I can say is thank you again for making this a truly brilliant summer!**


	19. Appendix

**A/N: Hey everyone! Firstly, can I just say an ENORMOUS thank you to you all for your wonderful response to the final chapter – I've had a permanent smile on my face for the past couple of days! Now, here is the promised AU timeline. If typing this up has shown me one thing, it's that this format doesn't really do the immensity of my sprawling, tangential, and neurotically-detailed headcanons justice, so I will be PMing everyone who asked for ramblings very shortly to expand on what's written here. **

**If any of you have any further questions after browsing this timeline or want to know about any events in greater detail, please do let me know and I will happily spam your inboxes with my thoughts! Also, my headcanons for the grandchildren are, surprisingly, still a little sketchy which is why there isn't much information on them, but please do fill in the gaps yourselves. And now I'll leave you with one final thank you and just reiterate that all of you have made me very, very happy!**

* * *

**Appendix: Events Following the Coronation of Fíli Oakenshield in TA 2942 **

**TA 2942: **AfterFíli's coronation, Gandalf, Bilbo, the Rivendell Party, and Legolas return to the West. Legolas leaves them as they pass through Mirkwood, Arwen, Estel, Elladan and Elrohir say their goodbyes at Rivendell, and finally Bilbo is returned to the Shire and Bag End.

**TA 2943:** Kíli asks Fíli if the fact that he and Elin are taking it in turns to embarrass each other is some kind of bizarre courting ritual. Fíli remains reticent, choosing to focus on the rebuilding of Erebor rather than a personal relationship. He appears to be the only dwarf in the whole of Erebor who doesn't know Elin is in love with him. This being said, he does share a rather tension-filled dance with her at the Durin's Day celebrations.

**TA 2944:** Bard is crowned King of Dale, and the city begins to flourish once more.

**TA 2945: **Heartbroken and tired of waiting, Elin returns to her family in the Iron Hills. Kíli hears of her departure a week later and confronts Fíli, who realises what a fool he has been. He rides out to the Iron Hills with Kíli, Dwalin, and his Kingsguard. Reunited with Elin, Fíli asks her to be his queen. They are married on the third anniversary of Fíli's coronation.

**TA 2947: **Fíli and Elin's first child, a son, is born on Durin's Day and they name him Thorin. In the winter, King Thranduil returns to Erebor, bringing gifts for the new crown prince. Thorin does his namesake proud and throws up all over Thranduil's shiny silver robes.

**TA 2948:** Kíli marries Neri and officially adopts Elís. Before their marriage, Kíli and Neri's relationship was often tumultuous and full of obstacles, mostly due to the fact that although remarriage isn't exactly a taboo in Dwarven society, it can still be frowned upon by more conservative dwarves and it is rather rare. They keep their feelings a secret from each other for years and from their families for even longer, but finally Kíli comes to Fíli with the matter, and Fíli gives his brother his blessing; in the end, all he wants is for him to be happy.

**TA 2949:** Gandalf and Balin visit Bilbo in the Shire.

**TA 2950: **Kíli and Neri's first child is born, a son named Frerin.

**TA 2953:** Elin gives birth to a daughter, Míra.

**TA 2954: **Bombur returns to the Blue Mountains with Bofur and Bifur to collect the last of his large brood and bring them back to Erebor. During this visit, Bofur becomes reacquainted with a childhood sweetheart and they decide to marry. Bofur stays in Ered Luin, appointed by Fíli as one of his official representatives in the West.

**TA 2955: **Neri gives birth to a second son, Keirin.

**TA 2989:** Balin leads a company of dwarves, which includes Óin and Ori, to try and recolonise Moria.

**TA 2994: **Moria is overrun. Balin, Óin, and Ori perish.

**TA 3013: **Dís dies peacefully in her sleep. She is buried next to her brother in Erebor's main vault. The singing at her funeral can be heard from Dale.

**TA 3018: **Frodo leaves the shire with the Ring. A council is called at Rivendell and Kíli is keen to go as Erebor's representative. Thorin is also determined to join his uncle, but Fíli won't allow either of them to go; he fears that if they leave, they will never return. It is decided that Glóin and Gimli will go instead and Gimli thus joins the Fellowship of the Ring.

**TA 3019: **The Battle of Dale takes place in the spring. Sauron sends a large contingent of Easterlings to attack Dale. Fíli leads his army into battle alongside Dàin and his forces from the Iron Hills and the men of Dale led by King Brand. After much fighting they are forced to retreat to the Front Gate of Erebor. Fíli and Kíli will not allow their sons to join the fray, believing them still too young for war, but Thorin disguises himself and joins his father's army. He is injured, but survives the battle. Dàin, however, is mortally wounded and dies in Fíli's arms. The forces of Gondor and Rohan defeat Sauron's armies in the south and so the northern armies lose heart and are defeated. The War is won and Aragorn is crowned in Minas Tirith.

**TA 3020: **Dori and Nori journey to Moria to find Ori's body and bring him home.

**TA 3021:** Bilbo and Frodo depart for the Undying Lands. The Fourth Age begins.

**FO 7:** Gimli leads a large group of Durin's folk to the Glittering Caves and establishes a colony there in Fíli's name.

**FO 15:** Thorin marries a dwarrowdam who has recently come to Erebor from the Blue Mountains.

**FO 21:** A son is born to Thorin; Fíli's first grandchild.

**FO 91: **Retirement isn't a word in Dwalin's vocabulary and he continues to serve in Fíli's Kingsguard and train the princes until old age claims him, and he collapses in the royal armoury. Taken to bed, Dwalin dies peacefully with Fíli and Kíli at his side. He is buried next to Thorin and Dís in the main vault.

**FO 98: **Fíli finally falls prey to the illnesses that come with advancing age and becomes bed-ridden. Once again, Kíli sends for Aragorn. Aragorn and Arwen make the long journey from Minas Tirith to Erebor so that Fíli can say his farewells. After speaking with Aragorn one final time, Fíli dies surrounded by his family with Kíli clutching his hand. He is succeeded by his son, Thorin.

**FO 100: **After two years of mourning for his brother, Kíli enters the vaults and sits down at the side of Fíli's tomb. He talks to Fíli until he falls asleep, and he never wakes. He is buried in a tomb beside Fíli's and the brothers are reunited once more.

**FO 120: **Gimli travels with Legolas to the Undying Lands. Aragorn dies and is succeeded by his son, Eldarion.


End file.
